


Intentions

by Lynse



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Secrets, Suspense, emrys - Freeform, mild Arthur/Gwen, minor use of other characters, original male character (temporarily), possible reveal fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-29 23:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynse/pseuds/Lynse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sorcery is banned in Camelot, so Arthur can’t fathom why anyone would seek the sorcerer Emrys within the castle walls. That would mean he’s unwittingly harbouring a sorcerer, and that’s ridiculous. Isn’t it? (<a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/984848/chapters/1940644">sequel</a> posted)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place within the three years between series four and five, though there’s a possibility that I’ll end up with a story that disregards series five. I still haven’t decided yet. That will all depend on how successful Arthur is, I suppose. But I’m getting ahead of myself, so let’s just safely say this story is set after _The Sword in the Stone: Part Two_ , shall we? Also, if anyone’s wondering, no slash, any spells that show up over the course of the story will be taken from the _Merlin_ wiki page, and the young boy who starts off this tale will disappear back into the woodwork once we get into the meat of the story. Standard disclaimers apply.

When he first noticed the sound of the approaching footsteps, the boy tugged the hood of his cloak farther over his head and ducked behind a pair of barrels, squeezing into the dark hiding place they offered him. The cloak, though a painful reminder of what he had seen only hours before, was long—almost too long—and gave him warmth in the chill of the night. He was grateful for it. It was familiar, and he welcomed the comfort its familiarity brought. It gave him the strength to do what he needed.

He’d long ago learned to move silently, to keep still for agonizingly long periods of time. It had been necessary to evade the king’s persecution. There were times, like now, when his people had to travel within Camelot’s borders or venture within the kingdom for supplies. It was always done with caution and they moved as swiftly as they dared, staying in one place for no longer than necessary, but he’d witnessed attacks before. Bandits were a constant threat, but one easier dealt with than the king’s men. Still, he had always been too young to fight. He was one of the ones who ran. He was one of the ones who hid. He had grown up knowing that making a sound at the wrong time, that any movement however unintentional, could betray one’s hiding place and result in one’s death.

He’d seen it happen himself.

Silently cursing the burning tears that sprang to his eyes, the boy curled in upon himself, not willing to raise a hand to wipe at his eyes. His cloak was a dark grey and roughly woven, affording him some cover in the darkness, but he did not dare take any more risks than necessary. This venture itself was risk enough. He did not wish to be conspicuous. He did not wish to be caught.

Men of Camelot’s renowned guard marched by, but the light of their torches didn’t disturb the shadows in which he’d hidden himself.

By all accounts, he was a fool to come. The dawn would be upon him soon and he had yet to reach the citadel. Uther Pendragon may be dead, but Camelot still did not look favourably upon magic. His people, his kind, were still hunted down for being who they were, albeit not as actively as before. The Once and Future King now sat upon the throne, but the legends and prophesies of old had not all yet come to pass.

Moving cautiously, the boy scrambled to his feet and darted swiftly ahead. He was close. He knew that. He could feel it. And he had learned enough of the old ways, of the Old Religion he had grown up following, to know that he would be able to distract any more guards he came across. He was not sure if he could do so without them recognizing his sorcery, weak though it may be, for what it was. But it would be enough to get him into the castle.

It had to be.

 _Emrys_. He called softly, more unsure of himself than he would like to be. _Emrys. You must help me._

He got no reply, but the boy was not disheartened. Emrys would help them. He must. 

The boy pressed on. He had to reach Emrys. This was his task and his alone. Even if he did not have time enough to explain the situation in person, he had the note that had been entrusted to him. He needed to ensure that it got into the right hands. He would do so, or he would die trying.

-|-

Merlin jerked awake, blinking away sleep and trying to figure out what had woken him. He could see no immediate threat in his room, and he could hear Gaius’s soft snores through the door. Whatever had woken him had not been heard by the court physician. 

Merlin frowned, feeling uneasy. He quickly dressed and slipped out of his room, past Gaius and out into the corridor. The door closed silently behind him and he stood for a moment, listening. Surely Arthur wasn’t in danger. The man was usually fast asleep at this time of night, but Merlin knew of no reason to suspect that the king was in any more danger on this particular night than any other. There was no new person in the king’s employ at this time who could be a danger to them. They were not at war. They were three years into Arthur’s reign, the second with Guinevere at his side, and the people of Camelot were happy. 

Morgana could be planning something, of course, since she had been quiet for an uncharacteristically long time now, with most of the rumours of her turning up just being rumours, but he wasn’t—

 _Emrys_.

Merlin stiffened at the name, recognizing it immediately. He knew now what—who—had woken him. A Druid.

He was already walking in the direction of the voice; the person—the boy, from the sounds of it—was near the south wall, possibly in the vicinity of the well. Magical presences were uncommon in Camelot these days, so it was very…quiet. It made him easier to find. _Who are you?_ Merlin asked, picking up his pace. He’d wandered the halls of the castle often enough to know the best hiding places if he came across anyone else.

 _I need help_ , came the reply. Merlin’s question went unanswered, but the desperation tinged relief that coloured the boy’s voice was clear, and Merlin trusted it. _Please, you must help me, Emrys. We were attacked—_

 _Not now_. The voice belonged to a child, and Merlin wasn’t sure how easily the boy could focus on multiple things at once. He could not afford a lapse in judgement now when it could lead to his capture. He may be able to convince Arthur not to execute the poor boy, but sneaking into the citadel in the dead of night would not endear the boy to the king. _You need to hide. I’ll meet you._

_We haven’t time. You must come with me!_

_I can’t—_ Merlin broke off instinctively as he ducked around the corner, avoiding whoever happened to be awake and coming in his direction. _I can’t right now_ , he said.

 _But you must!_ the boy insisted. _They’ve…they’ve killed…. We need you. We’ve no one else._

Merlin had a terrible feeling that he knew what had happened. Arthur had been lamenting the increase of raids in the kingdom as of late. The Druids were a peaceful people, and despite many of them possessing magic, they would not come out of such a raid without losses.

The approaching footsteps began to fade, and Merlin realized their owner had turned down another corridor. Assured that the coast was again clear, he resumed his journey. _Where is your camp?_

_In the Darkling Woods. I’ll show you. I—_

The clanging of the warning bell must have startled the boy as much as it did Merlin. _Run!_ Merlin hissed. _Hide! You’ve been spotted_. Merlin picked up his own pace. It wouldn’t do to be spotted himself, but he could come up with a suitable lie—or at least a passable one, since Arthur was aggravatingly more likely to suspect him of sneaking back from the tavern than of intending to help the intruder—if he needed to.

He had mixed feelings about the location of the boy’s camp. It was closer to the heart of Camelot than he had suspected the Druids would dare to come. They must have some reason for coming so near. But until he saw them, he doubted he would learn why.

_Help me, Emrys!_

And then, predictably, even though Arthur’s chambers were the floor above the one on which he now stood, “ _Merlin_!”

Arthur rightly suspected that his manservant would be out and about the moment the warning bell rang. He just had no reason to suspect that Merlin had been up and about _before_ someone had seen fit to set it tolling, and he certainly had no reason to suspect that Merlin knew precisely why the bell was set ringing even before the king himself did.

Really, though, did Arthur simply expect that his bellow would be heard all the way to Merlin’s room in the tower—above the warning bell, no less?

Merlin sighed, turned, and sprinted for the nearest staircase. More likely than not, Arthur expected him to appear anyway, and appear he would. _I can’t_ , he told the boy. _Not now. But I’ll do my best to help you, I promise_.

By the time Merlin reached Arthur, Arthur was, surprisingly, dressed. Merlin vaguely wondered if Gwen had helped him, but he put it out of his mind when he heard one of the guards telling the king that an intruder had been spotted. Arthur made his usual decrees—including an annoyed _"What took you so long, Merlin?”_ once the guard had left—before starting off.

Merlin fell in step beside him. From what he could hear, the boy had yet to be caught. Merlin fervently hoped that he was quick on his feet. Unlike his father, Arthur was not actively pursuing sorcerers to have them condemned to death (though he did ensure that all rumours of Morgana’s presence were checked out), but magic—and therefore the Old Religion and all who openly followed it, the Druids included—was as unwelcome in Camelot as it had been since the day of Arthur’s birth.

“You’re being uncharacteristically quiet,” Arthur remarked after a moment. “Are you still half asleep?”

Merlin smirked. “How could anyone in the castle be asleep after your yelling? I’d think you’d caught your fingers in the door if I weren’t used to it.”

Arthur scowled at him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you in the stocks. Are you hoping to be granted another visit? Because I can arrange that.”

Merlin opened his mouth to reply but faltered, in both voice and step, at the desperate cry that rang through his mind. The boy had been caught.

It was his fault, more likely than not. He should’ve ignored Arthur’s calls and gone to help the boy. A stranger to the citadel had little hope of evading its forces without help. Besides, if he hadn’t kept talking to the boy in the first place, he might not have even been caught. 

“Best get to the throne room,” Merlin muttered, quickening his pace.

Arthur gaped at him for a moment. “What _are_ you on about, Merlin? We haven’t even—” And then he broke off, hearing as plainly as Merlin did the victorious cries from outside the castle walls. Arthur rolled his eyes and let out a huff as he caught up to Merlin in three long strides. “Just don’t be thinking I’ll let you off easy because of an early start today.”

Merlin snorted. “Of course not,” he muttered. Then, feeling Arthur’s glare, he added a rather sarcastic, “My lord.” And because he’d been half expecting it, he didn’t even stumble much when Arthur accidentally-on-purpose knocked into him, for all that he was thinking more about the Druid boy than about the king of Camelot.

-|-

There were some aspects of kingship Arthur did not like, for all that he knew they were necessary. Listening to his councilmen droning on about _terribly important_ issues that _utterly demanded_ his _utmost attention_ was, he’d initially thought, among the very worst of his duties. Now he realized he’d been wrong.

This was, by far, worse.

The intruder had turned out not to be someone whose intentions were clear cut and obvious, with the sentence something Arthur would gladly hand out on any given day. He was not, for instance, an assassin sent to murder the king. He was not even a man who had taken various grievances, real and imagined, to heart and sought revenge on the rulers of Camelot by whatever wicked but simple way he could contrive.

Instead, the intruder was a child.

A Druid child, granted, as evidenced by the tattoo the guards had found just above his wrist, but a child nonetheless.

And a terrified one at that.

“What’s your name?” Arthur asked, not unkindly.

The boy stared at him with wide eyes and didn’t answer. Arthur repeated the question, and the boy blinked rapidly, his shining eyes betraying the fact that he was trying desperately not to cry. Arthur suspected he knew why. If someone not trained to keep the utmost control of his emotions from birth—like, say, Merlin—was in this boy’s situation at his age, he would likely find himself in a similar state. Under Uther Pendragon’s rule, he would have faced death for simply being who he was. He would have, unquestionably, been executed in a few hours’ time.

Those laws, technically, still stood.

“What business,” Arthur asked slowly, deciding to get the boy’s name later, “could you _possibly_ have here?” The boy was a Druid, yes, but he was a child. A _child_. 

Arthur did not want to be known for executing children.

He had gone out of his way, the last time a Druid boy had been caught within the citadel’s walls, to ensure that the child had escaped. He had defied the law, defied his father, defied the king, to save a child.

He had not yet repealed the laws against sorcery—who wished to open the way for the likes of Morgana to attack the kingdom?—but he did not want to be forced to see the laws upheld where a mere _child_ was concerned.

A sob was his only answer.

Arthur closed his eyes, just briefly, to compose himself. If the child had not been found sneaking around in the dead of night, it would be more acceptable for him to pass a much more lenient sentence. Something relatively harmless, like banishment. The Druids were a people who were still known to practice sorcery, true, and sorcery was still banned in Camelot, but children….

“You have to tell me,” Arthur said—trying to, but fearing he did not, speak with a gentle tone. Even to his ears, he sounded rather blunt. 

He didn’t plan on making a habit of middle-of-the-night trials. And this was not a trial, per se, but a…meeting to gather information. Minus, to his regret, the guards who had caught the boy. It would be easy enough to summon them, but he had hoped that he wouldn’t need to learn any more from them than he had when they’d turned the boy over to him. But, ideally, he’d get all the information he needed before everyone else knew what had happened.

Assuming he could ever get that information and discover, at the very least, why it had happened.

The child’s eyes darted around, taking in everyone in the room—himself, Guinevere, Gaius, Merlin, a few of his most trusted knights—and finally he whispered something Arthur didn’t quite catch.

“I’m sorry?”

The child locked his eyes on Merlin and Gaius, likely because they were the least threatening people in the room. Gaius was old, and Merlin was Merlin. Gwen, though currently unarmed and looking utterly unthreatening at present, would likely be able to inflict far more damage on someone if she wished to than Merlin could. She was certainly handier with a sword. Merlin…Merlin couldn’t do anything, really, being too clumsy to even be able to take someone by surprise. 

He was, by all accounts, rather lucky to be alive. And though Arthur wouldn’t admit it, he was glad that Merlin was. He was a terrible servant, really, but he occasionally— _very_ occasionally—came out with tidbits of wisdom that Arthur was grateful to hear.

The boy’s words, when they finally came, were hardly audible, but this time Arthur heard them: “I was looking for Emrys.”

The name sounded vaguely familiar to Arthur, though he had no idea why. _Emrys_ wasn’t exactly a common name. It sounded…. Well, it sounded like a name a Druid like the boy himself might have. Or one, Arthur thought less pleasantly, a sorcerer might have. Surely the name didn’t ring a bell because this Emrys was an enemy of Camelot? It would make no sense for the boy to seek him here.

And yet it was that particular thought which allowed Arthur to remember where he had heard the name before. Considering the circumstances, he was rather surprised that he’d forgotten it. It was, after all, a name Morgana had mentioned during their last meeting. And he could remember what she’d said to him very clearly, though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone else. _“I’m going to enjoy killing you, Arthur Pendragon,”_ she’d taunted. _“Not even Emrys can save you now.”_

To make a remark like that, Morgana must think this Emrys had managed to save him before. Morgana would not think anyone without magic—presumably very powerful magic—would be capable of _ever_ saving him from her. And this boy, of all people, evidently thought Emrys was not only in Camelot but _here_ , in the castle. 

Logic followed, then, that the Druid boy in front of him believed wholeheartedly that he was unknowingly harbouring a powerful sorcerer _in his own castle_.

Sometimes he hated logic.

Arthur sighed. “You won’t find him here,” he informed the boy. “I’ve never heard of him.” He was strongly tempted to ask _‘Who’s Emrys?’ _but decided to save that question for a time when there were considerably fewer witnesses to the answer. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust everyone in the room; he just didn’t feel the need to have such information widespread.__

__The boy stared at his feet now and didn’t say a word._ _

__“Why would you think this man was here?” Arthur asked, thinking it was not an unreasonable question._ _

__There was a rather loud sniff._ _

__Gwen placed a hand lightly on his arm. “He’s terrified,” she said softly. “Show him that he doesn’t need to be.”_ _

__He was trying to. He hadn’t yelled out in frustration, had he? He hadn’t so much as raised his voice. He’d sent the guards away. He’d made sure that there were fewer people present now than there normally would be for something like this. He hadn’t even had the boy bound. True, there were weapons in this room, but it wasn’t as if his knights had their swords drawn and pointed at the boy, waiting for him to make one wrong move._ _

__Deciding to change tacks, since the boy clearly didn’t want to speak about Emrys, Arthur asked, “How exactly did you get in here?” To his knowledge, the gates had been closed for the night. That was supposed to prevent things such as _this_ from happening. If the boy had simply informed the guard of his problem, like the people in the lower town might if they were desperate for the advice of Gaius, whose skills as a physician far exceeded those of anyone else in the vicinity, then he wouldn’t be forced to look for evidence of subterfuge._ _

__The boy’s shoulders shook and he let out another sob._ _

__“Take him to the cells,” Arthur decided. “We’ll see what he can say once he calms down.”_ _

__“If I may, sire,” Gaius began, “I would like to check the boy over. He appears to be in a state of shock.”_ _

__Arthur nodded. “Very well. You may do as you see fit.” Leon and Gwaine had already carefully taken the boy by each arm and begun to walk him out. Gaius followed, but before Merlin could also trail in their wake, Arthur added, “Before Gaius has you fetching herbs, Merlin, I’ve a few things I’d like you to see to.” Merlin gave him a slightly wary look, and Arthur began listing off various chores. It was, after all, best to be prepared so that he could do whatever he needed to once the dawn came._ _

__And until then, he could puzzle over what little information he _had_ gleaned from the boy and see if he could work any of it out._ _


	2. Chapter 2

Guinevere did not take kindly to his suggestion that she retire to her chambers.

“I’m rather used to being up early, Arthur,” she reminded him. “In case you’ve forgotten, I was once a lowly serving girl.”

“You were never lowly,” Arthur said immediately. “Not to me, anyway.”

That got a smile from Gwen. “I was, once,” she countered, “and you know that as well as I.” Her expression stiffened, and she added, “Now, don’t try changing the subject again.”

Arthur sighed and slumped in his throne. The guards stood their posts outside the heavy wooden doors, and he was alone with Guinevere. He didn’t need to put on any show for her. He had never needed to, though that’s not to say he hadn’t before he’d realized she could see right through him.

Gwen sat in her own throne and took his hand. “What are you going to do?” she asked quietly.

Arthur pulled a face. “I think,” he answered at length, “that if you’ll not go back to bed, I’ll have Merlin straighten it.”

“You know very well what I mean,” Gwen said shortly. “What are you going to do about the boy?”

He didn’t know. He was fairly certain she knew that, too. The boy was a Druid. He had, in all likelihood, used magic to get as far into the citadel as he had. He was a sorcerer, and he should be executed for it.

“I don’t know,” Arthur responded.

“He’s just a child.”

“I know.”

“You’re not your father.”

“I know.”

“You can’t have him killed.”

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s the law.”

“You’re the king.”

Arthur looked over at his clever wife and smiled. “And you’re my queen.”

“And I’m not about to let you try changing the subject again. He’s a child. He’s no threat.”

No, he wasn’t. Not yet, anyway.

“You’re a good man, Arthur,” Gwen said earnestly, “and the Druids are a peaceful people. You’ve said so yourself in the past. They’ve no direct quarrel with you, even if they are not entirely happy with how you rule. Your opposing views of magic are no reason not to show compassion. There’s strength in it. You’ll show that you are willing to acknowledge the fact that there are good people out there and that you won’t let your differences blind you to that knowledge.”

Arthur knew what Guinevere did not say: _You would show them that you are not Uther. You would show them that you are the man I know you to be._

She was right, of course. But the law was the law. He couldn’t change it, not right now, and he couldn’t ignore it without good reason. But a child was a child, and he was _not_ going to take the child’s life.

Besides, the boy was confused and, undoubtedly, misled. If this Emrys he sought was indeed a sorcerer like Arthur suspected him to be, there was certainly no reason for him to be in the heart of Camelot. Something like that would not have gone unnoticed. He may not be privy to idle gossip within the castle walls, but Gwen was still good friends with some servants, and she heard more than he what the people chattered on about behind his back.

And if Morgana believed that this Emrys had saved him before and would, if he were in danger, try to do so again, then if he were within the walls of the citadel—even living among the people in the lower town that surrounded it—he must have been there for some time. Arthur, for his part, highly doubted that a sorcerer could go unmarked for so long, particularly if he had ever gotten close enough to the king to practice magic to save his life.

That was a rather unnerving thought, really. He appreciated that someone would save his life, even if it had to be by magic, but he wasn’t keen on the idea of a sorcerer being able to get close enough to him to be able to do so. What if his intentions were not entirely noble? What if he was waiting for the right moment to abuse his position and set things in his favour?

Arthur dearly hoped that notion was a ridiculous one. He knew that Gaius had once practiced sorcery. He’d turned from it in accordance to Camelot’s laws, of course, but Arthur could not picture Gaius ever committing truly evil acts with magic. He was Gaius.

Of course, by that consequence, Arthur would have never thought that Morgana would ever turn out the way she had, either. They’d been friends, once, but that time had long since passed.

Arthur’s brow furrowed as he realized something. He had knowingly brought a sorcerer within the castle walls before. The old man who had, he’d believed, killed his father. He’d never hunted him down for it, but he’d never forgotten it, either. Gaius had later informed him that the sorcerer had done all he could, that Uther Pendragon had been too close to death for even magic to bring back, and Arthur, trusting in Gaius’s words, had accepted the fact. But he still hadn’t forgiven the sorcerer, however unfair that might seem to be.

He also did not particularly trust that old man, _especially_ since he had, in Uther’s time, admitted to sorcery and almost burned for it, though now that Arthur thought about it, the old man had done him a favour. Guinevere had certainly not bewitched him as she’d been accused. They’d simply fallen in love.

So why would he bother with the show of hiding magic poultices—?

Arthur sat up abruptly, eyes widening in realization.

Gwen smiled at him. “Have you decided?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I need to talk to Gaius,” he said. Gaius would know. Gaius knew, well, nearly everything of this sort, and he was the one who had directed Arthur to the old man in the first place. Arthur couldn’t remember now what the old man had called himself when he’d first been caught and sentenced to death for sorcery, but he was absolutely certain the name had been made up on the spot. 

Perhaps the old man had done more for him than pretend to enchant him and Gwen. Perhaps he had not failed to save Arthur as he had failed to save Uther. Perhaps this man was the Emrys Morgana had alluded to, the sorcerer the Druid boy sought. 

It still didn’t explain why the boy thought Emrys could be found in the castle, of all places, but perhaps he had simply formed that notion after hearing, though a grapevine that Arthur was not privy to, that Emrys had saved Camelot’s king.

It was a possibility, at any rate, and one Arthur was not willing to ignore.

-|-

The boy shivered in his cell, wrapping his cloak— _his father’s cloak_ , he forced himself to admit—tighter around himself. The court physician had been kind to him, had gone so far as to offer him something to calm his nerves, but the remedy sat untouched by the cell door. The boy hadn’t dared drink it. He still felt too ill to drink anything.

He’d been caught.

He wasn’t meant to be caught.

He hadn’t even been able to pass the note to Emrys. He couldn’t now, even if he’d wanted to. He’d lost it in the scuffle, when he’d been trying to evade the guards and more men had caught him by surprise. He’d never thought he’d part with it, even if someone were trying to pry it from his fingers, but…. He’d lost it. Dropped it, more likely than not. He’d promised his mother he would deliver it, but he’d failed.

He wasn’t sure he could remember to tell Emrys everything, but he had to try. 

That was his only comfort, really. Emrys was here. Emrys would help him. He’d promised.

So why wasn’t he coming? Why wasn’t he even answering? He’d answered before. 

The boy huddled in one corner, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. He hadn’t known, entirely, why his family had been sent here. They were the only ones who had come, breaking off from the others for this very purpose. He remembered hearing his parents speak in low voices, heads bent close together, lips moving only enough to murmur words he couldn’t make out. He’d caught glimpses of furious, betrayed looks, looks that always changed immediately to sorrow whenever they noticed his gaze, looks that always changed again to smiles that were too bright to be truly genuine.

He suspected they had gone because of his father’s position and, moreover, because the Elders had decreed it. The Once and Future King was on Camelot’s throne, and the time of Once was now, and, slowly, what had been foretold was coming to pass. But though it was a time of tentative peace, all the kingdoms of the land were not yet united. And, more importantly, magic was still not accepted.

His people were still hunted.

That’s what he’d thought it had been, at first, when he’d woken to the screams. But they had not been set upon by the king’s men, for all that they were in Camelot. It had been others. _They do it for greed_ , his mother had whispered. _You mustn’t let them catch you._

He’d known what that meant: if he were caught, he would not be spared.

He didn’t understand that, either. He didn’t understand how people could be driven to do such things by greed. He didn’t understand greed itself. He certainly hadn’t had the time to try to understand it then, in the midst of seeing it at work, so he’d done as his mother had asked: he’d taken his sister, and they’d run, and they’d hidden.

They hadn’t hidden together, not finding a suitable place for the two of them, so they’d split up, keeping near enough that they would, if they’d dared to look, be able to see the hiding place of the other. He’d thought their escape had gone unmarked by the greed-driven men; his father had been defending his family, distracting them. His mother…. 

He hadn’t known, exactly, what his mother had been doing after she’d sent them off. He couldn’t see, and he hadn’t risked lifting his head to look. He’d just listened, taking comfort in his father’s strong voice and waiting to hear his mother quietly tell him it was safe, that he could return.

But then he’d heard…. Then it had all….

 _Keep quiet_ , his mother had ordered sternly, even as he could hear her screaming his father’s name. So he had. Even as he’d heard her wails dissolve into choking tears. Even as he’d heard the voices of their attackers—the ones who remained standing, at least—murmuring about unthinkable things. Even as he’d heard his sister’s breath hitch in her throat, despite their mother’s warning. Even as he’d realized he hadn’t been the only one to hear it.

The boy squeezed his eyes shut, but he could not block out what he’d heard, nor the pieces of what he’d seen.

His mother had asked only this one thing of him, in the end. To get Emrys. They needed his help. He hadn’t wanted to leave her, not as she was, even knowing he himself could do little for her, but she’d found the strength to write the note and press it into his hand. _Tell Emrys_ , she’d said. _He’ll help us._

But he’d failed. Emrys had promised his help, but it would come too late.

The boy’s shoulders hunched, and he cried.

-|-

Sir Leon held his torch high, letting it cast its light in a dim circle around him. Arthur had not commanded any of them to do it, but he had been able to read the expression on the king’s face as he’d looked at the Druid boy in the throne room as easily as the next person. Answers were needed. This was one way that they might get them.

It had been easy enough to find out where the boy had been captured, but that never had been the trouble. The trouble was that he was currently on a self-instructed search for clues to ease the king’s mind, and he had absolutely no idea if he would find anything. It wasn’t so much that he thought he might miss it, whatever it may be, but that he hadn’t quite managed to convince himself that he was likely to find something in the first place.

Of course, he hadn’t convinced himself that he _wasn’t_ likely to find anything, and that was why he was now searching for something, anything, that might give them some answers.

Like the king, Leon had never heard of anyone called Emrys, and he had no idea why the boy would search for him here. He had even less idea why the Druid boy would risk his life to find the man when he was clearly searching in places where he might never find what he was looking for. Of course, that wasn’t far off what Leon himself was now doing, but this search, at least, was a simple thing that posed no risk to him. The boy had been looking in a place where he knew he was not welcome.

It suggested, though Leon was not entirely comfortable with the idea, that the boy was confident he would find Emrys here. The unsettling part of that concept was, again, that Leon had never heard of Emrys, and he had thought, until now, that he could name everyone who worked within the castle’s walls. The number was great, certainly, but he had been here a long time, and though he was from a noble family, he had no trouble associating with those who were not.

Besides, he liked knowing the people who surrounded him. It had made it easier to trust them, in the beginning, and now it gave him all the more reason to fight fiercely for them. For them, for the king, and for the rest of Camelot.

But a knight’s work did not always involve battles, and a friend was not above doing what someone else did not have the time for.

“You find anything yet?” Gwaine called.

“We’ve hardly started looking, haven’t we?” Percival countered.

Leon smiled. All the knights who were out here now had come out of friendship, not duty. Granted, the fact that they were all very much awake after the warning bell had rung tended to help matters, but even those who were due to ride out on patrol had felt helping the king, even in what was quite possibly a fruitless search, was better than catching a few more minutes of sleep.

Besides, the boy’s presence had unsettled all of them, and multiple sets of eyes ensured that anything that could be spotted would be found.

“Hold up,” Leon called not a quarter hour later. “I might have something here.” He’d first thought that it was a scrap of parchment but very quickly saw that it wasn’t parchment at all but rather a piece of bark—birch, if he wasn’t mistaken.

“It’s a note,” Percival observed from over Leon’s shoulder.

Gwaine took it and squinted at it. “Bloody awful handwriting if you ask me. I can’t make sense of this.”

“You can’t make sense of anything,” Elyan teased, “unless you’ve been at the ale first.”

“Regardless,” Leon said, taking the note back, “it may well be of importance.” He pointed at one word that was legible in the scrawl. _Emrys_. “I’ll inform the king.”

-|-

“Your theory may well be right, sire,” Gaius said carefully in the tone he always used with Arthur when things of this nature came up, “but I’m afraid I cannot say for certain.” Arthur had told him of his suspicions that the name Merlin had first given himself as the older sorcerer was false and Gaius saw no need to deny it. Merlin had already told him that Morgana believed his older self to be Emrys. If Arthur began drawing the same conclusions, it could well be beneficial to them in the future.

It might save Merlin some hours of explaining, at the very least.

Arthur gave him a sceptical look. “You’re telling me you knew where he _lived_ and you don’t know his name?” 

A smile twitched at the corners of Gaius’s lips, for he knew both, far better than Arthur believed him to, but he held it back. Now was not the time. “Indeed. I can only relay what I am told.”

“It’s just a name, Gaius,” Arthur complained. “Half the castle would recognize his face if he showed it here again; what’s so important about his name? His _true_ name?” 

Gaius allowed the smile to show itself this time. “For some, names hold power. You have made use of anonymity in the past yourself. A name may be recognized where the face is not, and a name can be unwittingly passed along in idle chatter to ill-receiving ears.”

Arthur frowned. “Are you just protecting him again? Gaius, I admire your loyalty, but this is not the time.”

“I can assure you, sire, that I have not heard from the lips of the aged man himself that he is called Emrys.” Merlin had told him that he was called Emrys with quite younger lips than that.

Arthur’s frown deepened. “Have you heard it from others, then?”

“I find it best not to put too much stock into speculation bred by gossip,” Gaius replied slowly. Knowing Arthur would not be satisfied with this answer, he continued, “However, I do believe that the Druids have foretold of a powerful sorcerer by that name.”

“A powerful sorcerer,” Arthur repeated flatly. “And the boy was looking for him _here_?”

“He is spoken of with reverence, sire,” Gaius said quietly. “It is believed that Emrys will bring about the time of Albion. He will unite the powers of the Old World and the New. He is said to be the greatest sorcerer who has ever lived.”

Arthur snorted. “And he’s in Camelot, where sorcery is outlawed.”

“The boy believes so.”

Something in Gaius’s tone seemed to have unsettled Arthur. “And do you?” he asked at length.

“It is certainly possible,” Gaius conceded, “particularly if Emrys is who you believe him to be.”

There was a beat of silence, then, “But I went back to that cabin, Gaius, after Father—” Arthur broke off, then continued, quietly, “I don’t think he lives there.”

“He may very well not live there now,” Gaius pointed out. “It would have been unwise for him to remain in that place when he was unable to fulfill your request if he feared that you might seek him out again, particularly if he suspected you sought vengeance. If you’ll allow me to say so, sire, I am heartened that you did not.” It meant a number of things, from the fact that Arthur trusted Gaius’s words and his skilled eye as a physician to the possibility that Arthur may be realizing that not all magic is ill-used, for all that it could not solve all of one’s problems.

Arthur looked at him for a moment, and then said, “I think Morgana fears him.”

Gaius’s eyebrows rose in surprise; he was not aware that Arthur knew enough to draw any connection between Emrys and Morgana. This news certainly explained how Arthur had made the leap from the name Emrys to that of the sorcerer he’d asked to cure his father. 

“The last time I saw her,” Arthur continued, “she said that even Emrys could not save me. She thinks he’s saved me before.”

“You have had many close calls, sire.”

Arthur swallowed. “I know. And you…you even told me that there were people looking out for me. That you hoped the day would come when I would see just how much some people do for me. Is this what you meant, Gaius?”

It was, but it wouldn’t do for him to admit that so plainly. Before he could come up with the proper response, however, there was a knock at the door and Sir Leon looked in. “Forgive me for interrupting you, my lord, Gaius,” he said, looking to each in turn, “but this note was found in the courtyard.”

Arthur took the proffered note and frowned at it for a moment, walking closer to the candlelight to see it better as Sir Leon took his leave. “I could write better if I were riding on the back of a horse,” he complained. But he didn’t surrender the note or ask for Gaius’s opinion on any of the more illegible words, and after a few long moments of careful studying, he announced, “I’m going to go see the boy.”

“If I may suggest, sire,” Gaius called as Arthur stormed towards the door, “take Merlin with you.”

Arthur paused in the doorway. “Whatever for?” he asked, looking as bewildered as he sounded.

The answer Gaius gave was not the whole truth, but it was a suitable answer nonetheless: “Because he is a sight less intimidating than you and any of your knights are. It would be best not to overwhelm the poor boy.” In a slightly quieter voice, he added, “And I daresay Merlin has no more wish to see this situation have an unpleasant outcome than you.” 

The expression on Arthur’s face hardened. “No,” he agreed. “I doubt anyone does.” And then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, I remember that Merlin gave the name Dragoon the Great, but I think it’s possible that Arthur does not remember. It’s been a few years, after all. Besides, Merlin needs a counter argument.


	3. Chapter 3

Merlin, Arthur thought, was far too eager to put off his list of chores to visit the Druid boy. Merlin hadn’t seemed at all put out by the fact that he was just there as a distraction while Arthur questioned the boy. In fact, he was so cheerful that Arthur was tempted to rescind the offer and take along Gwen instead, if only because she could radiate a calming presence a good deal better than Merlin. But Guinevere _was_ still the queen of Camelot, and the boy was rather edgy. The presence of a servant with the king rather than anyone officially important might, as Gaius had suggested, calm the boy.

And Arthur needed him calm. It was the only way he was going to get answers. The note that had presumably been written by the boy had provided none at all. It was incomprehensible, at least to him.

Arthur nodded at the guard who let them into the cell and waited until he had taken up his post again before turning to the boy. By this time, the boy was staring at them both with wide eyes, but he was as silent as ever. Thinking he might appear less threatening, Arthur crouched down to the boy’s level, and Merlin followed suit. “Are you ready to tell us your name?” Arthur asked.

The boy swallowed and his eyes turned to Merlin. It appeared that Gaius was right; Merlin, who didn’t look the least bit intimidating to anyone or anything, except perhaps to a rat, gave the boy someone to focus on. And then, finally, an answer: “Coran.”

“Coran,” Arthur repeated. “Well, Coran, as you know, I’m Arthur, and this here is Merlin.” When the boy didn’t say anything in acknowledgement, Arthur decided to continue his questioning. “You said you came here looking for someone called Emrys?”

A slow nod.

“And this Emrys—he doesn’t happen to be an old man, does he?”

Coran was staring at Merlin again. Arthur wasn’t sure whether to be satisfied or frustrated that he could appear so intimidating when he wasn’t even wearing his mail that the boy didn’t even want to look at him. Then, “I don’t know.”

Arthur frowned. “You were looking for him and you don’t know what he looks like?”

Coran glanced, just briefly, at Arthur. “I’d never met him,” he confessed.

“And yet you were looking for him? How did you expect to find him?”

Coran wrapped his arms more tightly around his knees. “I was hoping he’d find me first,” he admitted at length, “or that I could at least get a note to him, but I…I….” He broke off and shook his head.

At least, Arthur thought, he knew that the note was indeed the boy’s. “This note?” he asked, holding it up. Coran sniffed, and when he saw the note, his eyes lit up and he reached for it. Arthur, rather reluctantly, let him take it. “Can you tell me what it says?”

Another sniff. “It explains why we need help.”

“Was your camp attacked?”

Another nod.

“And you need a healer? I can have Merlin or Gaius take a look at your people.”

“Merlin?” Coran repeated.

Arthur nodded. “He’s been learning a thing or two about the healing arts.”

“Minor things, mostly,” Merlin interjected, “but I might be able to help.”

For the first time, the Druid boy smiled, and he loosened his grip on his knees and sat up straight. “Can we leave now?” he asked.

“Not quite yet,” Arthur said. “I was hoping you could tell me more about this Emrys fellow.”

Silence.

“Why did you think he was here?” Arthur prompted.

More silence.

It was just as well he hadn’t come out and said, “Is this Emrys a sorcerer?” He would’ve never gotten an answer then, though the way he saw things, the boy’s reluctance to talk about him meant he probably _was_ the powerful sorcerer Gaius had told him about. Quite possibly the old man.

But that still didn’t explain why the Druid boy had been looking for him in Camelot. In the citadel itself. He just hadn’t gotten very far before the guards had spotted him.

“Did someone tell you?” Merlin asked gently.

Finally, the boy nodded.

“Who?” Arthur asked immediately, his voice coming out sharper than he’d intended.

Nothing. Then, “My mother.”

Of all the answers he could’ve gotten, it had to be one that didn’t help him at all. “And why would she think that?”

Coran said nothing, and Merlin murmured, “Perhaps she believes it to be the truth.”

Arthur frowned. “But _why_?” he demanded. 

Merlin shrugged.

Arthur muttered under his breath before asking, “How could Emrys help you, if you did find him?”

Coran looked uneasy for a moment. “He just…could.”

“With magic?” Coran didn’t answer, but Arthur had expected as much. It would be magic, though, if the boy was after Emrys. Because he was a powerful sorcerer that, it appeared, the Druids—or at least this boy’s mother—thought was hiding in the heart of Camelot.

Of course, if he _had_ been saved by sorcery before as Morgana suspected, and if it _had_ been by this Emrys, then it stood to reason that Emrys was nearby despite the ban on magic. 

But sorcery was evil. It had taken his mother from him. His father. Morgana and Morgause had both certainly slaughtered a fair number of innocent people, and Camelot’s people had been victims of magic in the past countless times. Droughts and mysterious illnesses and the like. He didn’t need to look far to find an example of the evils of magic.

So why should he believe that the Druids were right in thinking that this Emrys sought to bring back the Old World and join it with the New? Why should he ever allow that? Emrys must think he would if he’d go to the trouble of saving him.

A pit settled in Arthur’s stomach as he recalled something that old sorcerer had said to him. _“Your own life has been saved using magic more times than you can possibly imagine.”_ He’d downplayed the meaning of the statement when Arthur had called him on it, of course, but perhaps he had meant precisely what he had seemed to: that someone had used magic to save his life. Perhaps he knew this because he had been the one to do so.

Perhaps he really was this Emrys.

_“Not all magic,”_ the old man had told him, _“and not all sorcerers are the same. Magic can be used for good.”_

Could he really take the old man at his word? He’d never thought so, even after Gaius had assured him that the sorcerer had done as much as he could for his father. But if magic—very possibly performed by the same old man who had failed to save his father’s life—had been used to save his own life….

“But he’s not here,” Arthur muttered, frowning.

“Emrys?” Merlin asked. “I thought you’d already established that.”

Did Merlin take him for a complete idiot? “I meant the old man.”

Merlin blinked. “What old man?”

Arthur scowled at him. “The one my father sentenced to death for sorcery. The one who couldn’t save my father’s life.”

A troubled look crossed Merlin’s face. “What’s he got to do with this?”

Arthur looked at Coran. He deserved the explanation more than Merlin did, seeing as he wouldn’t have any idea who they were talking about, let alone why. “I thought he might be this Emrys.” Glancing at Merlin, he added, “Unless _you_ happen to know of another sorcerer in Camelot?”

“Of course I don’t,” Merlin answered immediately. “But even if that old man _is_ Emrys, he’s not here.”

Arthur shot him a withering look. “That’s what I already said.” He faced Coran again and added, “So either he isn’t this Emrys you were looking for or your information is wrong. He’s not in this castle. I think I would know if there was a sorcerer in my midst.” Beside him, Merlin snorted. Arthur rounded on him. “Did I say something that amused you?”

Merlin quickly schooled his features, clearly catching the warning in Arthur’s tone. “Of course not. It’s just, well, that old man’s shown up here before and we’ve never found out how he got in. Who’s to say he hasn’t turned up again and no one’s noticed?”

“I think someone would notice,” Arthur said dryly. “The entire castle is not as blind as you are, Merlin. He’s a _known sorcerer_. I’d hear about it if he showed his face here again.”

“Of course you would,” Merlin said in a tone that laden with such an overabundance of agreement that it bordered too much on sarcasm for Arthur’s liking.

He let it slide, though. He let many of Merlin’s comments slide. If he didn’t, Merlin wouldn’t be any use as a servant at all because he’d be spending all his time in the stocks for his smart remarks. And Merlin might be a terrible servant, at least in terms of efficiency, but he had become Arthur’s friend, and he could, at times, be entertaining.

He didn’t try to make jokes about brass, at any rate.

“Can we leave now?” Coran asked.

Arthur hesitated. He had never hunted down the Druids as his father had, and he didn’t want to hinder the boy, who truly did seem only to have come for help he hadn’t thought anyone else could provide, but the circumstances in which he’d been caught did not make it easy for Arthur to give him any help at all. Appearances must be maintained. He couldn’t simply choose to uphold the law whenever he wished.

Arthur stood, Merlin taking the cue to rise as well, and Coran leapt to his feet. “All in good time,” Arthur said, deciding not to admit to anyone, even Guinevere, how painful it was to see the boy’s shoulders slump at his words. He clapped Merlin on the back and lowered his voice. “Merlin here will help you escape.”

Merlin looked at him incredulously. “I’ll what?”

“Oh, come on, Merlin, don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it before. I know you’ve at least snuck down here, and even Guinevere’s managed to get people out.”

“But what am I supposed to do about the guards?” Merlin hissed, flinging an arm towards them.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Arthur said. “Your head isn’t completely empty, is it? I’ll admit I sometimes have to wonder.”

Merlin, predictably, opened his mouth to protest. “But—”

“But you completely understand,” Arthur interrupted, “because you know I can’t be seen to be releasing prisoners without good reason.”

“But what if I’m caught?” Merlin asked.

“It’s simple,” Arthur said. “Just don’t get caught, and then you won’t have to worry.”

Merlin glowered at him. “You’ll at least give me the day off?”

“Can’t have that. You are my servant, after all, and you spend enough time in the tavern as it is.”

“I won’t be in the tavern,” Merlin muttered. “I’m _never_ in the tavern.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Arthur said sardonically, for Gaius had told him Merlin’s absence last week had been because he’d been out searching for a very rare herb. Arthur, of course, knew what that _really_ meant: Merlin had blatantly abandoned his work in favour of more than a few tankards of cider. It had come at a rather stressful time, and Arthur had not been pleased, for there had been rumours of Morgana turning up again. Those had thankfully been false, a case of a mistaken identity, but Merlin had been gone all day, nearly as long as Gwaine and Kay, whom he’d sent to investigate while he’d been tied up in council matters that couldn’t be put off any longer. 

Merlin rolled his eyes, and Arthur added, “I’ll expect to see you back after midday, and then if you must leave to gather herbs for Gaius— _again_ —so be it. I suggest you be quick, though. First light isn’t far off, and you’ll want the cover of dark for as long as you can have it.”

-|-

There were times when Merlin wondered how Arthur expected him to do half the things he did.

He had no qualms helping Coran escape—he’d protested only because he’d figured Arthur would expect him to, given what he risked if caught—but it was something that would have given him far more trouble if he didn’t have magic. As it was, he had more trouble making sure that no one realized he was returning to the cells so soon than distracting the guards at the bottom of the stairs.

He was tempted to use an aging spell and show up as ‘that old man’ just to spite Arthur but thought better of it. It was Arthur’s idea for him to rescue Coran, and though that idea lacked any real detail, he would be expecting Merlin to do it and would, to a certain extent, cover for him if someone did notice his absence. And as far as Arthur’s ideas went, it wasn’t bad. People would talk less if the guards had let the prisoner escape on their watch than if the king pardoned him without due cause.

He hoped he would be able to help, though. Coran had realized that he was Emrys, but Merlin wasn’t convinced that his appearance was enough to remind the boy that he might not be able to live up to his expectations. He didn’t like it, but he’d let people down before. Sometimes what he did wasn’t enough, was too little too late, or sometimes he couldn’t stop something, or sometimes he did something he shouldn’t, accidentally or not, and…. He made mistakes.

Coran had spent an unnervingly long time staring at him and insisting that he was wrong. He was Emrys, Coran had said with a child’s unwavering conviction. He could help them.

Easier said than done, in Merlin’s opinion.

But he sent the guards off chasing a rolling barrel—he’d long ago realized that the same trick often worked on different guards so long as he didn’t use them too often to be obvious—and hoped that Arthur would never ask him exactly how he’d managed to get past them. Arthur _had_ given him a key to the cell, so he didn’t expect him to pick the lock, and he’d told Merlin to take Coran out the same way they’d taken Mordred so many years ago.

Arthur hadn’t offered any solution for getting the grate down (though knowing him, he assumed it was loose and that Merlin would manage somehow), but Merlin took it to mean there wouldn’t be guards in the area.

“We need to be quick and quiet,” Merlin told Coran as he pocketed the key to the cell. The boy nodded earnestly and followed him closely. Even in unfamiliar surroundings, he moved with ease, and Merlin guessed that he was used to the need for stealth.

They made it quite a distance, all things considered, before the warning bell rang out a second time that night. They had nearly made it out of the citadel. If Merlin had to guess, he’d say Arthur had come up with some excuse to pull a few of the guards. He hadn’t needed to use magic again until it came to knocking down the grate, and he hadn’t needed it since.

_When are you going to tell him?_

The question caught Merlin by surprise, and his steps faltered, just for a moment. Coran had been quiet for so long; they were nearly at the woods now, and the sun’s first rays had already chased away the dark. But he understood what the boy was asking. He just didn’t know the answer, really. He wasn’t looking forward to telling Arthur. As much of a relief as it would be to not have to hide it anymore, it meant admitting that he’d lied to him for so long.

Lied to keep his life and to be able to continue saving Arthur’s, but lied nonetheless. 

_When the time is right_ , Merlin replied.

There was silence again for a time before Coran suddenly asked, _Did you read the note yet?_

Coran had slipped it into his hand before he’d left the cell with Arthur, but Merlin hadn’t taken the time to glance at it yet. He hadn’t thought it important now. He still had the note, of course—he’d tucked it into the bag along with various packets of herbs Gaius had suggested he take—but since Coran was able to lead him, he hadn’t thought he’d need the note to explain anything. After all, even though Arthur didn’t know it, Coran had gotten who he’d come for. 

From the expression on Coran’s face, however, he clearly thought that reading the note was still necessary, so Merlin pulled it out and looked at it. At first glance, he couldn’t read anything beyond his name, and when he looked closer, he realized that was because it was written in the old tongue. He hadn’t expected that, though he understood the reasoning behind it.

That explained why Arthur hadn’t been able to read it despite being in possession of it.

They were just in the cover of the trees when Merlin stopped, his eyes focused completely now on the last few lines of the note he’d been studying as they’d walked. He’d thought, all along, that Coran had merely come to fetch him because he was in need of a healer and hadn’t known of anyone else. Arthur had assumed as much as well. But what the note described was something Merlin doubted Coran was even aware of.

His family had come to Camelot bearing a gift for the king, a peace offering that was to be given through Emrys. It had been hoped to hasten the acceptance of the Old Religion in Camelot’s lands. But with the bloodshed, Merlin knew, it could very well become quite the opposite.

“How much farther?” Merlin asked, his voice sounding hollow even to his own ears. Initially, he’d been planning on offering Coran some food once they’d reached the cover of the trees. He’d nicked them a few things from the kitchens, a couple of apples and a scrap of yesterday’s bread that he’d hidden away for a time when Arthur’s list of duties meant he’d be missing breakfast, but now the thought of any food at all made his stomach turn.

_Far enough_. Coran turned and ran ahead, picking up on Merlin’s urgency, and Merlin wasted no time before following him.


	4. Chapter 4

“You seem rather cheerful, considering a prisoner just escaped from your dungeons,” Gwen commented, smiling at her husband as he came back into the throne room.

Arthur gave her a wry grin. “What gave me away?”

“Your eyes,” Gwen confided, “and the fact that you haven’t sent me off to be barricaded in my chambers for fear that the boy has ill intentions against us.” She paused. “It was a good idea.”

Arthur’s look changed to one of surprise. “What was a good idea?”

“Letting him escape,” Gwen replied. “You can’t fool me so easily, Arthur. I know you—and your heart—too well.”

“Hopefully my subjects don’t know me so well,” Arthur murmured, running a hand through his hair. “I already saw a few smirks from some of my knights, so I suspect they know as much as you.”

“Your reputation precedes you,” Gwen pointed out, “and I expect you wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t a matter of urgency. Did he seek a healer?”

A frown crossed Arthur’s features. “From what Gaius tells me, this Emrys he was looking for is a sorcerer. A powerful one.”

Gwen blinked. “A sorcerer? Here?”

Arthur sighed. “Believe me, the idea of another Morgana lurking in our midst is no comfort to me, either. But Emrys, as far as I understand, means to help Camelot. All of the kingdoms, in fact. He may well have helped us in the past. I know Gaius means well, and I’m sure he believes what he tells me, at least insofar as accurately repeating the legends go, but I don’t know if I can….” Arthur trailed off and shook his head. “The boy did need a healer, though. I sent Merlin with him.”

“I suspected as much,” Gwen said softly. The idea of a powerful sorcerer hiding in Camelot did not sit well with her, but she was happy that Arthur did not pursue sorcerers as fiercely as Uther had. She knew all too well how easy it was for the innocent to be accused.

The councilmen, if they suspected Arthur of releasing the Druid boy, would not be happy. It would have been simpler to appease them if Arthur had simply banished the boy from Camelot when he’d first seen him. But she was convinced the child meant well and did not mean them harm, and she was glad that Arthur ruled as much with his heart as with his head. Children, after all, were expected to make mistakes. So long as it wasn’t known that the boy sought a sorcerer, the entire matter could be made to disappear easily enough. 

“I told Merlin to be back soon after midday,” Arthur informed her. “I didn’t want the entire castle figuring out that he took the boy away.”

Gwen knew Arthur well enough to know that there was something he wasn’t telling her. “But?” she prompted.

“It’s Merlin,” Arthur said bluntly, “with a child who was looking for a sorcerer. They might be well-meaning, but I half expect them to run into bandits.”

“You want to check up on them,” Gwen surmised. 

“And I can’t. I have to be here.” He gave her a sideways glance. “Unless you’d care to handle the masses for me?”

Gwen’s lips quirked into a smile. “I’d hardly call the council the masses.”

“But would you? Saying I’m taking it upon myself to search for the boy? I can have Leon cover the training for the knights, and—”

“You could find someone to do every one of your duties for you,” Gwen cut in, “and each person you asked would do so gladly. But your people trust you, Arthur. You needn’t lie to them. Say you’re looking for the boy’s camp because you feel it is your responsibility if people have been attacked in your kingdom. That’s as much the truth as looking for the boy himself.” She hesitated. “You can, of course, say that you’re unsuccessful even if you do find it.”

Arthur smirked. “What happened to ‘no need to lie to the people’?”

“No need to disclose everything, then,” Gwen corrected. “You’re doing well, Arthur, but sorcery and those who practice it…. You have to tread carefully.”

The doors at the end of the hall opened, and Gwaine walked in. At a wave from Arthur, the guards closed the doors again behind him. “You have news?” Arthur asked.

“Good news,” Gwaine agreed. “There’s no sign of the boy.”

Gwen arched an eyebrow. “That’s good news?”

Gwaine grinned. “You know as well as I do that it is. You send Merlin with him?” he asked, looking back at Arthur. “I haven’t seen him running around like everyone else.”

Arthur sighed. “Does _everyone_ know my intentions?”

Gwen laughed. “Your friends know you well, Arthur. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Glancing at Gwaine, she said, “Tell Sir Leon he’s to be in charge of this morning’s training. I’ll be speaking with the councilmen and the guards and overseeing things while Arthur goes out for a ride.”

“You want a bit of company?” Gwaine asked. “Assuming you’re going where I think you’re going.”

“Would you listen to me if I tried to stop you?”

“Depends on the day,” Gwaine answered cheerfully, though Gwen knew as well as Arthur that Gwaine was as loyal a knight as the rest of them. He merely wanted to look out for his friends, and he undoubtedly suspected that Merlin was as likely to run into trouble as Arthur did.

“Go safely,” Gwen said. Smiling a bit, she added, “See if you can make the deadline you gave Merlin. If you don’t, I might have half a mind to send Elyan after you.”

“We’ll be fine,” Arthur said, waving off her concern.

He would be, she was sure. They all would be. They’d pulled through much more harrowing circumstances in the past. All things considered, they were quite lucky. Miraculously so.

Unless there really was someone with magic in their midst, looking out for them and making sure they made it through this, and everything else, alive and well.

Gwen shivered, not quite sure what to think of the idea. On one hand, it made sense. It was almost— _almost_ —comforting. On the other, it was downright terrifying. _Another Morgana_ ….

She would never have guessed, despite her closeness to Morgana all those years ago, that she would turn against them like this. That she would grow so bitter and cruel and merciless. That she was even capable of it. To Gwen, it looked like sorcery had twisted her, taking the gentle ward of the former king and turning her into a frightening madwoman. How could they be certain that this Emrys, if he truly was here, would not undergo the same changes? How could they know that they were safe?

But she trusted Gaius’s judgement. If he did not think that the sorcerer Emrys would become a threat, she could believe that he wouldn’t. And if he had helped them in the past, well, she might very well owe him her life and Arthur’s as well. She could be thankful for that, if nothing else. 

“Long live the king,” Gwen whispered. She didn’t want to think that she’d ever lose him. But she knew the risks, knew that her taking care of Arthur’s duties today was a preparation for the future. For a time when his duties would be hers and hers alone. A time when he rode out of the citadel and did not ride back.

She hoped that day was a long way off.

-|-

They were too late.

Merlin wasn’t about to tell that to Coran, of course. Not yet. He hadn’t even examined the boy’s mother. But he’d spent enough time helping Gaius that he knew the look of someone who was beyond saving. He wasn’t even sure magic could help now. She wouldn’t have long. At best, he could ease her pain.

“I’m Merlin,” he said, crouching down beside her. She’d pulled herself over to a tree and was leaning against it. In the clearing just ahead, Merlin could see the bodies of fallen men. He was glad, suddenly, that he’d handed Coran the spare water skin and instructed him to fill it, telling him where the nearest stream was. After so many hunting trips with Arthur and so many scouting trips to gather herbs for Gaius, Merlin knew these woods well. “Coran will be back with some more water soon so I can wash your wound.” He hesitated before holding up the other water skin. “Do you think you can drink?”

_It’s too late for me._

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He held the water skin to her lips, letting some of the liquid trickle into her mouth.

The woman coughed when he drew away, then managed a small smile. _Coran found you. You’re Emrys._

_So I’m told._ “Just…call me Merlin, if you don’t mind. In case Arthur decides to check up on me.” Merlin carefully peeled away the layers of cloth the woman had pressed over her wound. She’d wrapped her cloak around her like a blanket, using something else—a dress?—to try to stem the bleeding. But the abdomen wound had bled heavily, and Merlin suspected internal bleeding as well. He was surprised that the woman was still conscious.

To be honest, he was surprised that she’d survived the night.

_It’s beneath me,_ the woman said. _I hid it in the roots of the tree._

_You wrote the note._ It wasn’t a question. _Why bring this now?_

_It was a step we needed to take._ A pause, then, _We knew the risk, and the price we’d pay. It had to be done. We do not want to be hunted for who we are, what we do, or what we know to be true._

_I’m not sure if Arthur’s ready yet. For any of this. I’m not sure…. I don’t know if the time is right. I’m afraid I won’t know when it comes._

_Then let it be a step towards the future that must be built. Trust your judgement, Emrys._

_But what if it has no effect?_

The woman’s eyes closed. _It is a symbol of good faith. It will have effect. It will be considered when the time comes. It will be remembered. We did not do this in vain._

_I’ve got the water._

Merlin jumped; he hadn’t noticed Coran, and for a moment, he wondered how long the boy had been standing there. But then Coran fell to his knees and flung his arms around his mother, and Merlin knew he wouldn’t have been there long. Child or not, he knew.

_I’m sorry,_ Merlin said, backing up to give them space. Coran’s mother was strong. She’d been sure to give him the message she’d carried, clarifying what she’d written in the note. She’d saved him the time of having to search, of wondering if he’d find what he was looking for or if it had been stolen by the bandits. She’d done what she’d believed she’d had to do.

But more importantly, she’d held on until her son had returned. She’d wanted to see him one last time, and she had.

He’d collect stones to mark their graves. Arthur wasn’t here; he didn’t need to know. But it was right. They deserved it. And he’d see Coran reunited with the Druids again. Somehow. Arthur ought to let him go if he explained the situation. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d done this. It might not be the last.

-|-

“This might be the trail,” Arthur said, pointing to a snapped stick and, farther along, a slight scuff in the dirt. There was nothing more definite; the last few days had seen heat and sun, enough so that there were no depressions left in the ground from the footsteps of anyone who had gone ahead of them. They might get luckier farther in, where the canopy was thicker and more moisture was held in the ground, but they could only guess the likely places Merlin and Coran had entered the woods.

The fact that they’d gone into the woods was an assumption in itself, but Arthur highly doubted they’d be headed anywhere else.

As it turned out, Arthur’s suspicion was right. Their progress had been slower than he’d liked, and he’d spent most of the time ignoring Gwaine’s chatter, but they ran into no trouble and soon came upon Merlin and Coran. The latter was carefully placing rocks into a neat pile, and Arthur knew without asking what Merlin had found upon his arrival.

“You worked quickly,” Arthur murmured when he drew alongside Merlin. Merlin was still relatively clean, too, which surprised Arthur about as much as Merlin’s apparent resourcefulness. But then again, Arthur knew these woods well enough to know that there was a stream nearby where Merlin could have washed, and he could see the remnants of the boy’s camp just ahead, where Merlin had undoubtedly found everything he’d needed for a quick burial.

“It kept Coran distracted,” Merlin said bluntly, though he kept his voice low enough that it wouldn’t travel to Coran’s ears. “I don’t think it’s quite sunk in. We need to get him back to his people before it does.”

“I’m not even sure where they are,” Arthur admitted. “The scouts—”

“North,” Merlin cut in. “They came from the north. They’re hiding out in a series of caverns.”

Arthur didn’t need to ask how Merlin knew; it was clear that Coran had told him. “Do you think you can find these caverns?”

“I could,” Gwaine said, and Arthur mentally cursed himself for not paying more attention. He hadn’t realized when Gwaine had come within earshot. 

Fortunately, they hadn’t been speaking of a particularly delicate matter—Gwaine would’ve guessed this course of action anyway—and he had offered the means to solving one problem: taking care of Coran without _everyone_ realizing that he was behind the boy’s escape. “You could go now? Take the boy?”

“He’s light enough,” said Gwaine, eyeing Coran critically, “and it probably won’t be the first time either of us have skipped a few meals. If he can keep his head on his shoulders and help guide me, and if it isn’t too far, we should arrive well before nightfall.”

“Barring trouble,” Arthur said.

Gwaine shrugged. “I’ve been in enough fights that I can handle myself against a group. I thought I’d saved your skin enough times that you’d remember that.”

“I don’t doubt your skill,” countered Arthur, “but you must remember that you’ll need to protect Coran.”

“If he can keep his wits about him, it won’t be much different from protecting Merlin whenever we run into trouble,” Gwaine said simply. 

Arthur considered this. From the corner of his eye, he could see Merlin’s disgruntled look, but it wasn’t as if Merlin could argue the truth of that statement. Since Merlin did ride out with them so often, he really should be taught to defend himself better. A girl could handle a sword better than he could. If Arthur were convinced that Merlin could wield one without accidentally stabbing himself—or someone else—with it, then he might see to it that Merlin had one for the times he needed it.

Arthur had seen Merlin fight with a sword, of course. He was, arguably, passable—against someone with little skill. But anyone with any real fighting experience could disarm him and run him through in a matter of seconds, a minute at most. It was simpler, for now, to let the others protect him than to take the time to teach him to protect himself. For all that he seemed to find time to spend in the tavern, Arthur was aware that Merlin’s duties meant he didn’t have much free time. He might not be happy if Arthur decreed he should spend it learning to fight when there were no objections about the fact that everyone would do their best to protect him.

It was admirable, really, that Merlin insisted on staying by his side, even in situations which saw him attacked. It marked him as a brave man. A rather idiotic one, granted, but a brave one nonetheless. He was a loyal friend, and Arthur knew he owed Merlin his life. Merlin had jumped into certain death—in front of the Dorocha—in order to save his life, for one, and Arthur knew Merlin had put himself in harm’s way before that and since then.

He’d believed in Arthur more than Arthur had ever believed in himself. It was…comforting, if rather inexplicable. Arthur wasn’t sure what he’d done to earn Merlin’s faith. Certainly not faith of that extent.

But none of that mattered now. If Gwaine took care of the Druid boy, then he could return with Merlin to Camelot and begin sorting out what was really worrying him: the issue of Emrys. 

Arthur nodded. “Very true,” he said, smiling a bit. He could afford to be amused at Merlin’s expense; the reverse was true more often than he liked. “I’ll let you be off, then. But try not to talk Coran’s ear off, will you? He doesn’t need to hear half the things that come out of your mouth.”

Merlin snorted, and Gwaine looked overly appalled—putting on an act for Merlin’s benefit, no doubt. Merlin had, understandably, looked a bit out of sorts when they’d arrived. “You think I’d fill the boy’s ears with drivel?” Gwaine asked. “It’s not fitting for someone of his standard. He can use his eyes, can’t he? He can see things for how they are. Now, someone like you, on the other hand, who can’t see past his station—”

“Is now really the time for insults?” Arthur interrupted.

Gwaine held up both hands in mock surrender. “Oh, I’m sorry, _sire_. I wouldn’t _dream_ of implying—”

“That’s really enough,” Arthur cut in. He knew what Gwaine would’ve said, though the knight didn’t know how true his words would have been. 

Arthur really was blind if Coran was right and there was a sorcerer hiding in Camelot under his nose.

Gwaine’s hands dropped, and he looked genuinely worried. “Am I missing something?” he wondered, his eyes darting between Arthur and Merlin.

“It’s just been a long day already, I expect,” Merlin chipped in. In a stage whisper, he added, “Arthur’s not used to getting up so early. Tends to get grouchy when it happens unexpectedly like this.”

“ _Mer_ lin!”

“What? It’s true. The number of times you’ve been awake before Gwen—”

“That’s enough!”

Merlin grinned and added a cheeky, “See?”

At Gwaine’s chuckle, Arthur realized what Merlin had done, and he wondered how often Merlin had used similar tactics on him before. He’d distracted Gwaine before the knight had a chance to press or pry, putting his fears to rest. He’d waved a serious matter away with jokes and laughter and snide remarks. He’d completely changed the subject. 

It was a rather startling realization. Arthur hadn’t known Merlin to be quite that clever. Most of the time, he was just _pretending_ to be clever. Making up words or some such nonsense. But here he was now, bantering away like always, only this time steering the conversation to safer waters.

“Just…ride safely,” Arthur said, “and report to me upon your return.”

“I’ll talk to Coran,” Merlin volunteered.

Arthur watched as Merlin knelt in front of the boy and began speaking in low tones, but Gwaine drew his attention again when he said, “I’ll stop by the tavern on the way back.”

Arthur frowned. Gwaine’s habits were well known, but he hadn’t thought they’d extended quite that far. “You can celebrate on your own once you’ve told me you were successful.”

“But that’s the thing,” Gwaine said. “If you want to keep this quiet, I shouldn’t have been successful at anything. But if I’m to be gone all day, possibly longer, unexpectedly like this, then it would make sense for me to have a good story to tell, wouldn’t it?”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not picking up your tab again.”

Gwaine shrugged. “I make friends very easily. I’m sure I can talk my way into a few free rounds.”

That was true enough, Arthur knew. And it would be believed by most, seeing as Gwaine’s reputation preceded him. The only ones who would figure out the truth would be those who already had reason to suspect it.

Merlin wasn’t the only one in Arthur’s presence who had more of a head on his shoulders than Arthur had ever given him credit for.

“Very well,” Arthur decided. “Just make sure you’re in shape for training the morning after you return.”

Gwaine grinned. “I’m always in shape for a good fight. I’ve got the instinct for it. Besides,” he added, “it takes a fair amount of ale or mead or wine or anything else to really cloud my judgement.”

“I’m sure,” Arthur said dryly. But in truth, he wasn’t worried about Gwaine’s habits or his competence when it came to getting Coran safely back to his people. It was everything else that worried him. True, by returning Coran safely to the Druids, he would not be provoking them, but if they were right—Coran, his family, and, undoubtedly, the band with whom Coran’s family had travelled—then there was a sorcerer in Camelot. 

And if he had never quite realized how clever the people nearest to him were, perhaps it was possible that he had overlooked evidence of sorcery beneath his very nose.

He couldn’t very well see it if he’d always assumed it wasn’t there in the first place.

What if that’s what he’d been doing all along? Latching onto the first reasonable explanation? Just not seeing any of the little things that pointed to magic being used in Camelot?

“You did the right thing, you know,” Merlin said much later, once Gwaine had ridden off with Coran. Arthur had been tempted to ride back to Camelot and leave Merlin to walk, but he’d needed the time to think, so they walked back together, leading the horse behind them.

Besides, Merlin had come out with unexpected bits of wisdom before.

And that old sorcerer’s words kept coming back to him now. His disdain for Arthur’s treatment of his servants. His conviction that Arthur was—and had always been—clumsy. All the other things he’d said that had hinted that he knew far more than he was telling. Arthur didn’t care much for the insults, but he and Guinevere both knew they had never been enchanted, that their love was true. Looking back at it, it didn’t make sense for a sorcerer to give himself up like that, even though Arthur had been far too grateful at the time to question it. It was almost as if he’d wanted to be caught. As if he’d known that this was the only way that Gwen would be allowed to remain in Camelot, that Arthur would remain the son he had always been in his father’s eyes.

If he really was this Emrys, how much did he know about the going-ons of Camelot? How much did he know about Camelot’s future? What if he really was doing everything he could to _preserve_ that future? If it weren’t for him, Gwen wouldn’t be queen right now. She might not even have her life.

“Of course I know that,” Arthur grumped, even though he was grateful for the distraction Merlin offered. “You should know me well enough by now, Merlin. I’m not about to sentence a child to death.”

“You let him mark the graves of his family.”

Of sorcerers, more likely than not. Something he would ordinarily never allow.

“He was a child,” Arthur said in a tone that Merlin should know meant he ought to drop the subject.

“Still, it was the right thing to do,” Merlin repeated. And though Arthur wouldn’t ever admit it, he was grateful for the reassurances. 

“Of course,” Merlin added at length, “it’s rather strange that he’d come to Camelot, isn’t it?”

“Looking for Emrys, you mean,” Arthur said. So much for Merlin acting as a distraction.

“Well, it is silly. You were right earlier. You’d know if there was a sorcerer in Camelot.”

Ordinarily, Arthur would be happy that Merlin was actually seeing sense and admitting that Arthur had the right of it. But this time…. “You think I was wrong to suspect the old man of being Emrys, don’t you?”

Merlin hemmed and hawed and didn’t give a proper answer until Arthur glared at him. Finally, “I’d just thought he was called something else. Dragoon, wasn’t it? The Great?”

Arthur nearly stopped in his tracks. That was right. That _was_ the name the old man had given. He couldn’t remember telling Merlin about it, though he must have since he’d been the only one in the room when the old man had declared himself, but Merlin would remember something inconsequential like that. 

Still, hearing the name again just brought back the same suspicions he’d had before. “I’m not convinced that was his real name. Think about it, Merlin. If you were a sorcerer and I’d caught you, would you give me your real name?”

Merlin snorted. “Arthur, if I were a sorcerer and you’d caught me, you’d _know_ my name.”

“But if I didn’t know your name. If we didn’t know each other. What reason would that old man have to give me his real name, especially if he planned to make his escape?” Arthur paused. “You’re still not forgiven for that, you know. You let him, a doddery old man, run right past you. And you _still_ go back to the tavern, even though you know how useless it makes you.”

“I keep telling you, I don’t….” Merlin trailed off and shook his head. “All right. Fine. No. If I were a sorcerer and you caught me and you didn’t know it was me, I wouldn’t tell you my real name. I don’t have a death wish. Everyone knows the penalty for the crime of sorcery in Camelot.”

“And that’s my point. That old man could have made up a name on the spot. He likely did. The Great Dragoon? I—”

“Dragoon the Great,” Merlin corrected.

Arthur rolled his eyes and continued, “I daresay Morgana could come up with a better name than that if she needed to. And you know how many people my father questioned after that old man turned up. No one had heard of him. None of them could even recall seeing someone like him before.”

“So you’re still assuming _he’s_ Emrys?”

Arthur didn’t appreciate the incredulity in Merlin’s voice, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he nodded. “I don’t want to rule it out. He’s the only sorcerer I know of in Camelot.”

Merlin was silent for a few seconds before saying, “You mean to look for him, don’t you?”

“I have to try. The Druids evidently think he’s to be found under our very noses.”

“But he hasn’t shown his face here for years.”

“That we’re aware of,” Arthur reminded him. “Besides, Gaius told me he’s a powerful sorcerer. I expect it would be simple enough for him to come up with some sort of disguise.”

Merlin’s steps faltered for a second, and then he said, “ _Gaius_ told you he’s a powerful sorcerer?”

“He told me what the Druids believe about Emrys,” Arthur said. “He’s not sure it’s the old man’s name, but he didn’t deny the possibility of it.”

“Of course not,” Merlin muttered.

Arthur shot him a sideways glance. “Has Gaius ever told you any of this?”

“Not enough of it. I’ll have to ask him when we get back,” Merlin said, his tone sounding a bit sour.

Of course, Merlin never did like it when the subject of magic came up. Arthur supposed it was to be expected. “I can save you the trouble,” he said. “The Druids don’t seem to think this Emrys has ill intentions against us.” He paused, then added, “And I think Morgana fears him, so it could well be true.”

Merlin turned to stare at him. “You think _what_?”

“Well, perhaps not _fear_ him,” Arthur amended, “but she seems to think he’s helped us in the past. And he has, if he is that old man. Guinevere and I never were enchanted, and he made sure she wasn’t banished so I had no need to give up my claim to the throne.”

Merlin looked surprised. “Perhaps you ought to thank him, then.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “After he killed my father?”

Merlin’s expression darkened immediately. “That might not have been intentional.”

“Perhaps not,” Arthur conceded, “but I’ve seen more harm come from magic than any possible good. If there’s a sorcerer in Camelot, we have to find him. You’ll talk to the servants for me, won’t you, Merlin?”

“Of course,” Merlin answered—and if were perfectly honest with himself, Arthur couldn’t tell from Merlin’s tone whether or not he was happy to do it.

That was a ludicrous notion, of course. Merlin had seen the harm magic had wrought as well as anyone. But Arthur knew that the servants were in more of a position to see someone trying to slip through the castle than he was, and since no one had any reason to protect a sorcerer, they could find Emrys if he was there to be found. He’d make it very clear that he wouldn’t execute anyone found harbouring the man, though. That was the best way to ensure their cooperation.

Besides, if Emrys had helped them in the past, he had no reason to punish anyone who had helped him in return.

Arthur could only hope that assurance would be enough to loosen lips that had remained stubbornly closed in the face of Uther’s threats.


	5. Chapter 5

The door banging against the wall was the only warning Gaius had of Merlin’s entrance.

“Why did you tell Arthur about Emrys?” Merlin demanded. “It’s going to be that much harder to keep everything a secret now!”

Gaius raised his eyebrows at Merlin’s tone. “Calm down, Merlin,” he said gently. “And close the door, unless you’d like the entire castle to hear you.”

Merlin frowned but shut the door before rounding on Gaius. “Well?” he asked, sounding desperate.

“I didn’t endanger your secret,” Gaius told him simply. “You know I would never willingly do that. I feel bad enough that Alator managed to get anything out of me when I thought I’d never say a word to anyone. You know that, Merlin.”

“But why say anything to Arthur, then?”

“He’d pieced most of it together on his own,” Gaius began. Merlin’s look darkened, and Gaius added hastily, “I said what I did because I thought it was for the best. You don’t want Arthur trying to run you through with a sword the next time he catches a glimpse of you after you’ve aged yourself, do you? And Morgana believes your older self to be Emrys. If Arthur has any inkling of that—”

“I’m not sure he did until you talked to him,” Merlin cut in. “But now, since he’s figured out that Emrys is a sorcerer, Arthur’s assuming that Emrys must be the only sorcerer he’s ever seen in Camelot who hasn’t tried to kill him. And since Coran was looking for him _here_ , Arthur thinks that he _is_ here. Still!”

Gaius’s lips twitched. “He wouldn’t be wrong.”

“But he means to look for him,” Merlin explained.

“And he won’t have any luck finding him if you don’t let him,” Gaius reminded him. “It’s not like you’ve any reason to do an aging spell now. Your secret is safe, Merlin.”

“But for how long? Arthur’s going to be as bad as Uther, I just know it. He’s not going to rest. He’ll be combing the castle, the town, the woods, looking for any sort of evidence….”

“But he won’t be like Uther in all ways,” Gaius pointed out. “He wouldn’t have Emrys hanged or burned even if he did find him.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know it as well as you do,” Gaius countered. “Arthur is not his father. He allowed Coran to escape.”

“Coran was a child.”

“You are his friend.”

“Who has _lied_ to him. _Repeatedly_. For _years_. He’s not going to trust a word that comes out of my mouth if he finds out!”

“But you have no reason to think he will find out unless you lead him to it. The only way Arthur can link you to your older self is through your eyes, and you told me he could never place why he thought he recognized you.”

“It doesn’t do me any good,” Merlin mumbled, finally sinking down onto the bench opposite Gaius. “He thinks Emrys has disguised himself. And, no thanks to you, he knows ‘Dragoon, the Great’ was nothing more than an alias. He’s not going to believe that I’d never met him before if he’s sure the name was a lie, too.”

Gaius sighed. “Just be your usual self, Merlin, and Arthur won’t have any reason to suspect you of anything. You may recall that you admitted to sorcery before and he defended you against it.”

“Which will make it all the worse when the truth finally comes out,” Merlin muttered, taking a sudden interest in the books laid out on the table between them.

“Merlin,” Gaius said, and when Merlin had raised his eyes to him, he continued, “much has changed since you first came here, and much has changed since Arthur defended you, but what hasn’t changed is the most important of all. The future will yet come to pass. You will fulfill your destiny. And Arthur will accept you. You might need to give him time, but he will accept you. Your friendship is not something that can be denied.”

“Arthur’s been hurt like this before. His friendship with Morgana came to naught. Magic has taken too many people from him. It’s taken his family from him. He’ll see this as a betrayal, Gaius. I just know it.”

“He won’t see it as a betrayal once he realizes and understands all you’ve done and all you’ve sacrificed for him. Your loyalty to him has never wavered.”

“But he won’t see it that way! He won’t be able to look at me without seeing me as a sorcerer. And Uther’s taught him well that all sorcerers are evil. He hasn’t had much evidence to deny that. He’ll just think that my friendship was all…false. Which will make my betrayal, as he’ll see it, all the worse. He’ll hate me, Gaius, and I don’t….” Merlin trailed off.

“You’ll have to give him time,” Gaius repeated. 

Merlin groaned. “With my luck, he’ll bring in another witchfinder.”

“After the last one, I dearly hope not.” Gaius reached out and touched Merlin’s arm. “You needn’t worry. You have come through much worse than this. And when the time comes to reveal yourself to Arthur, you will see that you have been worrying over nothing.”

“I don’t know when that time will come. That’s half the trouble.” Merlin slumped over the table, resting his head in his hands. “I don’t think I’ll even recognize it when it’s upon me,” he added, much more quietly than before.

“You have to trust yourself,” Gaius advised. “You are much wiser than you think.”

Merlin looked up at him. “Everyone says that. Everyone _expects_ that. But I’m not wise. I’m just…me. Trying to do what’s right. What I have to do. But you should know better than anyone how many mistakes I’ve made, Gaius. You know how many times I could have changed the future. Stopped Morgana. Stopped Mordred. I’ve had so many chances….”

“And if you’d succeeded,” Gaius said quietly, “you wouldn’t have been true to yourself. You have a good heart, Merlin. Let it guide you. Do what you know to be right, not necessarily what others tell you must be done.”

“But they’ve been right, Gaius. Kilgharrah…. He warned me about Mordred and Morgana both. Told me to let them die. And I didn’t. And now…. Now everything’s all the worse for it!”

“You would not be who you are if you had not let them live when you did, Merlin,” Gaius reminded him, “and Arthur would not be who he is.”

“Mordred’s going to kill Arthur,” Merlin said bluntly. “If I can’t stop it, it’ll be my fault.”

Gaius gave Merlin a long, measured look. Finally, he said, softly, “I daresay the future is not quite yet written in stone. Use your knowledge well, Merlin, but do not let it become a burden.”

“Bit late for that,” Merlin murmured. He straightened up and took off the medicine bag. He rummaged in it for a moment before producing a small cloth pouch. He placed it on the table in front of Gaius. “This is what Coran’s family died for,” he said shortly.

Gaius did not argue with the change of subject but instead opened the pouch. It held a pendant, simply but expertly wrought, supported by a thin, silver chain. He could tell without further examination that it was endued with magic. 

Gaius dropped it on the table between them and Merlin asked, “What is it?”

“I’m afraid I’m not sure.”

“Gaius.” From the tone, Gaius knew Merlin had caught him out. “What is it?”

“If I were to guess….” Gaius hesitated, but Merlin’s look prompted him to continue. “It looks rather like the Stone of Æthelu.” The crystal, which resembled white quartz but was actually—if he was right—hewn from the crystal cave itself, had been set into silver brackets that were so delicate that he was almost surprised it still held. Almost. Just as he was almost surprised that, despite the intricacy of the pendant itself, it did not appear the slightest bit tarnished. But he knew better than to be surprised by such things these days.

“The Stone of Æthelu,” Merlin repeated. “And that is—?”

“Something I’d thought long lost,” Gaius admitted. “It was rumoured to help the wearer see the true intentions of those around him. It’s nothing more than hearsay, of course, but Æthelu was a well known truth seeker in his time.”

“And sorcerer, no doubt.” Gaius inclined his head slightly, and Merlin sighed. “Coran’s mother told me it would have effect. I thought she’d meant it would be effective as a peace offering. I thought that’s all that this was!”

“Your first inclination may not be wrong.”

“I can feel its pulse from here,” Merlin said quietly, gesturing at the pendant. “I doubt either of us is wrong.” He stared at the pendant for a moment. “I can’t give this to Arthur now. Not when he’s looking for Emrys.”

“It would not guarantee that he would find out that you are Emrys.”

“Yes, well, I don’t like my chances of that,” Merlin said, scooping the pendant up and tucking it back into its pouch. “I’ll put it under my floorboards with the spell book for now. If Arthur asks, I never brought anything back with me.”

“Merlin,” Gaius called as Merlin started off to his room, “this isn’t something you can keep hidden forever.”

“It’s not forever,” Merlin replied, the accompanying sounds of creaking wood telling Gaius that he was wrenching up the floorboards by his bed. “It’s just for now. Until I can slip it into the vaults, maybe. Arthur probably doesn’t know half of what’s down there, anyway. It’s not like he’s ever looked at an inventory list.” There was a pause. “Assuming there even _is_ an inventory list.”

“There would be one with the records.”

“Then this can be something that was missed. Honestly, it’s not like Arthur would ever suspect otherwise.” Merlin reappeared then, flashing a quick smile at Gaius at he walked by. “Got to run. Arthur expects me to do everything around here, you know.”

“Merlin—” Gaius began, but Merlin was already out the door again. Gaius shook his head and glanced at the boy’s room. “The Stone of Æthelu isn’t meant to be hidden if it’s been passed to you now,” he finished softly. “I hope for your sake hiding it again for a time won’t make any difference.”

-|-

Quite possibly the hardest thing about looking for someone, Arthur decided, was figuring out where to start.

He didn’t want it to be common knowledge that he was looking for a sorcerer. Of course, any who knew Emrys _as Emrys_ probably already knew he was a sorcerer, but he couldn’t help that. It was a simple enough thing, on its own, to sent out word that he was looking for a man called Emrys. No one would question him on that, particularly those who had been present when he’d first questioned Coran.

It was strange how a few whispered words— _“I was looking for Emrys.”_ —could change so much. He’d hardly heard Coran speak them, but he was absolutely certain, given how quiet the throne room had been, that no one had missed them. His knights certainly hadn’t, nor Gaius, nor Merlin, and he rather doubted Guinevere would have let anything the boy said get past her, so desperate had she been to find reason to spare him.

But Coran had come to the citadel seeking Emrys, a powerful sorcerer, and Arthur knew better than to dismiss the evidence in front of him.

Between the Druid boy and Morgana, there was little doubt left in his mind that there was a sorcerer nearby.

He just needed to find him.

Just.

As if that weren’t a nigh on impossible task.

The man was a sorcerer. He could be disguised. As _anything_ , not necessarily a human. Of course, Arthur was quite certain that his horse was and had always been only a horse, but the longer he spent thinking about it, the more evident it became that he likely wouldn’t recognize the sorcerer if he walked right into him.

Merlin had said he’d talk to the servants, and Gwen had as well, now that Arthur had spoken with her, but he wasn’t convinced he’d get anything on that front. He wasn’t convinced anyone would come forward at all. Promises of clemency and the like stood for little in the face of all that had been done in Camelot’s past.

A sudden clatter brought Arthur from his thoughts, and he looked up abruptly from his desk to see a sheepish Merlin on his hands and knees, scraping some food back onto a plate. Arthur’s lip turned up of its own accord. “I hope you aren’t expecting me to eat that.”

“It’s still good,” Merlin argued, putting the food in front of him.

Arthur gave him—and the food—a dubious look. “It’s been on the floor.”

“Yes,” Merlin agreed, “and I scrubbed that floor, yesterday. How dirty do you think it’s gotten between now and then?”

“Dirty enough. You can fetch me another plate and eat that one yourself if you’re so insistent that tossing it would be a waste of perfectly good food.” Merlin rolled his eyes but turned heel. When Arthur added, “And remember to let me know if you hear anything of Emrys from the servants,” Merlin waved a hand in acknowledgement before going out the door.

Which left him back where he was before.

How could he find someone who very clearly didn’t want to be found? It was obvious that this Emrys was good at hiding, at practicing his craft unnoticed. In all likelihood, the only times Arthur had seen him were the times he’d _wanted_ to be seen. Which meant, for all he knew, that Emrys had been in Camelot for years. It was already clear he’d survived the Great Purge under Uther’s reign.

Emrys was his real name. Arthur was nearly certain of that. But if Dragoon the Great had been a false name (and, really, the more he thought of the name, the more he was convinced it was false), then Emrys could very easily be living here under another name, using a completely different guise. Arthur could know him—even know him relatively well—and have no idea that he was a sorcerer. That he was _the_ sorcerer, the one who had done so much for him, who had tried to get him to see the good of magic, the one who had proved as much if Morgana’s words were true, never mind his own. 

The one Gaius could well have been referring to, the time he’d mentioned hoping the day would come when Arthur would see how much people did for him.

But still. It was sorcery. Magic. It planted seeds of evil which grew, twisting people into shadows of their former selves. Magic, and the power it granted, corrupted. Morgana was a prime example of that. 

But Gaius, a tiny voice in the back of his mind reminded him, was not.

Gaius was good. Arthur had no doubt about that.

“He gave up sorcery,” Arthur said aloud. But speaking it wasn’t enough to silence the insistent voice that spoke up bravely from one corner of his mind. Magic may not be any more evil than those who practice it. It, like so many other things, could be used as a force for either good or evil.

But that thought went against everything his father had taught him, and Arthur wasn’t exactly comfortable with it.

He found himself wishing Merlin would return soon. He wanted a distraction now, and his idiot of a manservant would be enough to provide one.

-|-

Merlin dropped the fresh plate of food in front of Arthur, the harsh comments of the head cook still ringing in his ears. But a bit of clumsiness was part of being _Merlin_ , and he was happy to take all the scolding that went along with that if it meant he could still be himself. He’d wondered, sometimes, with all the things he’d had to do with magic—with all the people he’d _killed_ , though the thought always made his stomach turn—if he’d begun to lose a bit of himself, of the Merlin who had grown up in Ealdor under his mother’s watchful eye.

“You might as well eat it now, Merlin,” Arthur said, gesturing with his fork at the first plate of food that he’d put off to one side. “I know you’re a fool, but every once in a while you do come out with something that makes sense. Sit down over there somewhere—” Arthur waved vaguely in the direction of the chest at the foot of his bed “—and we’ll have a talk.”

Merlin sat, plate in one hand, knife in the other, and wondered how soon he could reasonably excuse himself. In all honesty, he should be thankful—this meal was a far better dinner than he would have gotten, assuming he’d had time to eat one at all—but thinking about this entire situation was enough to turn him off food completely at the moment. He knew what Arthur would want to talk about, and he knew it was precisely what he _didn’t_ want to talk about.

“I can’t help but wonder if this Emrys is close to me,” Arthur said.

Merlin knew better than to say anything, so he took a small bite of chicken and chewed slowly, making a sound of acknowledgement.

“That would make sense, wouldn’t it, if he’s saved me before? I mean, assuming that old man _is_ Emrys, he’s already admitted that. He told me my own life has been saved by magic more times than I can imagine.” Arthur took a swig from his goblet and plonked it back down on the table. “I mean, really. Magic. Used to _save_ me. I’m Uther’s son. By all rights, he should _hate_ me. But he’s as good as said he’s saved my life. Can you imagine that, Merlin?”

Merlin gave a sort of half shrug.

Arthur, as he’d suspected, wasn’t paying him that much mind. “It’s not likely to be someone I don’t know,” he continued, finally spearing a piece of his own meat, “which means that someone I _do_ know is keeping secrets from me.”

Merlin wondered, just briefly, if he should point out that that someone was likely keeping secrets from him in order to be able to keep saving Arthur’s sorry hide, what with sorcery being punishable by death and all in Camelot. But he thought better of it and just took another bite of chicken.

Arthur was silent for a moment, too, chewing thoughtfully. Finally, “You know Gaius better than anyone, wouldn’t you say?”

Merlin coughed, caught off guard, but managed to nod. “I may not have known him until I came to Camelot,” Merlin said slowly, “but he’s like a father to me now.”

Arthur hesitated. “Were you aware that Gaius once practiced sorcery, before my father banned it?”

Merlin froze, trying to figure out if that was supposed to be a trick question. _Arthur_ obviously knew Gaius had magic. But then again, Merlin remembered, Gaius had been questioned by Agravaine when Agravaine had trying to frame Gaius as a traitor, and long before that, the witchfinder Aredian had called Gaius out, too. Even if the evidence had been planted both times, Arthur would have to be a complete idiot not to know the truth, and he wasn’t a _complete_ idiot.

He just thought Merlin was, seeing as Gaius had been proven innocent.

“Yes,” Merlin whispered, hoping it was the right answer.

“And….” Arthur paused. “You have to understand, Merlin, that I’m just trying to explore all the possibilities here. But you don’t suppose Gaius might be—?”

“No,” Merlin said immediately. “Gaius is loyal to you and he always will be. He has your best interests at heart. But,” Merlin added as Arthur opened his mouth to protest (likely to say he _knew_ Gaius was all that and that was why he’d suspected him), “he can’t be Emrys if Emrys is indeed that old sorcerer because he was there, remember, at the sorcerer’s execution?”

Arthur frowned. “That’s right. And the old man practically assaulted Gaius in the midst of his ranting.” Arthur blew out a breath. “But by that logic, I’ll rule out half the court.”

“So then perhaps Emrys isn’t as close to you as you suspect.”

“But if he’s saved my life as many times as he implies?” Arthur countered. “He wouldn’t have had the opportunity if he weren’t.” Another chunk of meat was torn off. “I might as well suspect you, Merlin. I don’t recall seeing you at the sorcerer’s execution.”

Merlin’s mouth went dry. “I was…sick,” he said, suddenly unable to remember what excuse he’d given before. Had he even given one in the first place? He must have….

“Are you sure?” Arthur was looking at him in amusement now. “After all, you’ve confessed to using magic before.”

Merlin blanched. His head was spinning now, and his gut didn’t seem to want to settle, twisting itself into agonizing shapes around the pit in his stomach. It was just as well; he knew he wouldn’t be sick, not with his heart beating in his throat and nearly blocking off his airway, but…. Yes, he had confessed to sorcery before. He’d nearly done so many times since. He’d never precisely regretted the almost-confessions, thinking it was best if it were to be put off for a better time. But to be called on it like this, now…. 

Arthur shot him a contemptuous look. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Merlin. Don’t be an idiot. Of course I don’t think you’re a sorcerer. You’d never be able to keep something like that a secret the way you blabber on all the time, and you wouldn’t be such a clumsy fool if you were.”

Merlin swallowed. “Thanks,” he offered weakly.

Arthur snorted. “You’re too terrified of magic, anyway,” he added. “I have to wonder sometimes if that’s the reason you felt you didn’t fit in Ealdor anymore, what with your friend being a sorcerer and all.” Merlin inhaled sharply, but Arthur didn’t seem to notice how deeply his words about Will cut, mistaken though they were. “And though I’m grateful you’re long over your crush on Guinevere, I still don’t know why you did something so stupid as to pretend to have magic and confess to using it to my father. You would have gotten yourself killed if I hadn’t stepped in.”

Merlin licked his lips. “I didn’t want Gwen to burn for something she didn’t do.”

Arthur glared at him. “And you think I did, even then? If all the evidence hadn’t pointed towards her, I wouldn’t have even arrested her in the first place. The only thing to do in that situation is to do what we did: find the _real_ source of the plague. Prove Guinevere’s innocence in the matter.”

“I know,” Merlin said. He was relieved now, as he had been then, that no one had ever brought up the subject of the magic poultice used to cure Gwen’s father again once the true source of the plague had been revealed. But he knew better than to push his luck. If Arthur thought about it too much, he might realize that they’d never found out who _had_ cured Gwen’s father. He might make the connection to Emrys.

He might realize that Emrys had, technically, saved more people than just him. People who hadn’t seemed as important as the crown prince of Camelot. People who would later, even if he hadn’t had any inkling of it at the time, play a part in shaping the life of the Once and Future King.

People who, at the time, had been little more than servants to Arthur but who had been dear friends to Arthur’s own servant.

“Yes, you know that _now_ ,” Arthur allowed, “but you clearly didn’t then. I’d wager Gaius talked some sense into you, didn’t he, after that?”

Merlin nodded.

“Just as well. If you’d ever pulled a stunt like that again, my father would have had you executed.”

Merlin didn’t say anything. He knew it was the truth as well as Arthur. What made it worse was that the possibility could have become reality if Uther had ever found out about him.

If Arthur ever found out….

Some of his thoughts must have shown in his expression, for Arthur rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a girl, Merlin. _I’m_ not going to have you executed. _I_ know you could never be a sorcerer.” 

He shouldn’t say anything. He _knew_ he shouldn’t say anything. But Arthur was chuckling, and the words were out of Merlin’s mouth before he entirely realized it. “Why not?” The witchfinder’s methods had been questionable, true, and the man may not have realized it himself, but he had managed to identify the three people in the heart of Camelot who had been using magic: him, Morgana, and Gaius. Granted, Arthur didn’t know that Gaius had confessed to sorcery solely because the witchfinder had threatened to expose him and Morgana….

The chuckling stopped. Arthur raised an eyebrow, as if he honestly couldn’t believe Merlin would ask such a question. “Well,” he said, “because you’re…you. You’re Merlin. And you’re not a sorcerer.” 

It didn’t answer his question, aside from telling him that Arthur clearly never considered the possibility. He thought he knew Merlin too well, perhaps. At least that explained why he’d never noticed any of the closer calls. He wouldn’t have seen something he never expected to see.

Only it meant that, when Merlin finally did tell him the truth, the betrayal—for that’s what it would be to Arthur, no matter how much Merlin wished otherwise—would be that much more painful.

“You haven’t any ideas of who it might be, do you?” Arthur finally asked. “You knew Will well, right? That’s why you knew he was a sorcerer? Because you knew him well enough to find out about his magic? Does anyone here strike you as…similar?”

Merlin just shook his head. Thinking of Will still hurt. He’d likely saved Merlin’s life by telling that lie. He’d been a true friend. “Maybe if Emrys is the same sorcerer who saved Gwen from banishment, he isn’t anyone else. Maybe he’s not disguised.”

Arthur looked incredulous. “Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said all morning?”

“Well, it is a possibility, isn’t it?” Merlin asked, a bit defensively.

“An unlikely one,” Arthur said dryly. “He tried giving me a false name. It’s not inconceivable to anyone—except perhaps _you_ —that he would try to make a new identity to protect himself. Besides,” Arthur muttered, this more to himself than to Merlin, “I was sure we’d met before, the first time I saw him, even if he said we hadn’t. Something about him was familiar.”

_“There is something of you in the eyes,”_ Gaius had told him when Merlin had asked. But with Arthur so sure he wasn’t a sorcerer, it would never occur to him that the familiarity he felt was because he was actually looking at his magically-aged manservant.

Merlin put his plate of food to one side. He could take it away later when he cleared up Arthur’s. Instead, he started gathering up Arthur’s dirty clothes. Arthur, when he noticed this, raised an eyebrow. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“Laundry,” Merlin replied, forcing some extra cheer into his voice.

Arthur glanced at the plate of almost-untouched food. “You haven’t finished eating.”

Merlin picked up a shirt and shrugged. “Not hungry.” Not really a lie, even though he hadn’t eaten much of anything today.

“And what if I said I wasn’t finished talking to you?”

Merlin stopped for a moment. “Well,” he said, “then I suppose I would have to stay here, and you wouldn’t have any clean clothes, unless you got someone else to clean them for you. Though I really wouldn’t wish this job on anyone. Do you know how much you positively _sme_ —” Merlin ducked, grinning as the chicken bone sailed over his head and hit the wardrobe behind him. He’d expected Arthur to lose his temper sooner rather than later. And so long as he didn’t end up in the stocks for it, it was all for the better; he didn’t need Arthur questioning _why_ he was suddenly so anxious to leave.

“Get on with it, then,” Arthur muttered.

So Merlin did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of curiosity, does anyone have a preference as to whether this is an actual reveal fic or just a near-reveal fic?


	6. Chapter 6

“Are you sure this is for the best?” asked Guinevere.

Arthur’s shoulders slumped. He had just dismissed the meeting, had just sent out word that he was looking for a man named Emrys and would provide a small reward as a token of his gratitude to the bearer of any information that proved fruitful, and they were alone once again. Gwen’s voice was quiet and gentle. Soothing. Yet it still held a note of reproach, of question.

“They needn’t know why I seek him,” Arthur answered.

A light touch on his shoulder. “Your ears will be filled with lies if you allow them to be,” Gwen pointed out, “since you’ve chosen to proceed in this manner.”

“I haven’t any other choice.”

“You could let him be.”

Arthur finally turned to look at his wife. “I cannot. He’s a sorcerer.”

There was a look of determination on Guinevere’s face. Of defiance. It reminded him of one of the many reasons he loved her so. “And if he is indeed a sorcerer, and as powerful a one as is implied, then surely he would have harmed us already if that had been his intention.”

“Sorcerers are crafty,” Arthur said quietly. “He may well be biding his time.”

“You told me Gaius believes he means us no harm.”

Arthur couldn’t say anything to that. He wasn’t entirely convinced either way. He’d seen too many evils of magic to dismiss it so easily, and anyone who wielded such power….

“Arthur.” Gwen’s voice pulled him from his thoughts again. “I trust Gaius. _You_ trust Gaius. He has proved time and again to be loyal to you, to Camelot.”

Before Arthur was completely aware of it, he was speaking. “I know. I do. But I suspect he knows more than he is telling. That he may be protecting the sorcerer.”

His doubts, now given voice, seemed to swell. He wouldn’t convict Gaius of treason, even for this. As Gwen had said, Gaius would never intentionally do anything against them. He just…. Gaius was, in all likelihood, doing what he believed to be right. If they merely convinced him of the necessity of discovering the identity of Emrys, he should come around to their way of thinking. It was for the good of the kingdom, after all. It was for Camelot.

“Then perhaps he does so for a reason.” Gwen’s voice was quieter than his own had been. 

“What reason can there be?”

“That Emrys truly is protecting you, and by protecting you, protecting all of Camelot. You know the laws as well as I do, Arthur. Sorcery is punishable by death.”

“As is treason,” Arthur pointed out, even though he hated himself for it.

Guinevere, as always, seemed to see right through him. “Is it treason if Gaius believes his silence will protect you? Whatever he does, he does for the good of the kingdom. I’ll not have you sentence a dear friend to death when he has done nothing but try to keep you—all of us—safe.”

“I wouldn’t,” Arthur said, though he knew Gwen was already well aware of that. “I just…. We should talk to him. In private. If we cannot obtain any viable information from any other route, I mean.”

“Then we will, if necessary,” Gwen agreed. “But until then, rest easy and trust your judgement. Gaius has proved his loyalty, and you told me yourself how heartbroken he had been to know that you had once suspected him of being a traitor.”

“I know.” Arthur paused. “I just seem to find traitors in the unlikeliest of people. Morgana. Agravaine. If this Emrys is the same, pretending to be good but waiting to strike—”

“Do not judge him until you know him,” Gwen said simply. “Your father made that mistake, deeming all sorcery evil. But if magic can be used to fight magic, then perhaps it is not.” She fell silent for a moment before adding, “When I was first accused of sorcery, they said they had found a magic poultice in my house. That it was the reason my father was cured of the plague that had taken everyone else.” This he knew, having been in charge of the search for the plague’s source. “But I did not put it there, Arthur,” Guinevere continued, “and to this day I do not know who did, but whoever it was gave me time with my father I would otherwise not have had. I am grateful to them. I have seen the evils of magic as well as you, but I need only think of my father’s miraculous recovery to know that good may come of it as well.”

Arthur had also wondered, secretly, whether his father had been right to condemn all magic, but admittedly most of those musings had been since he’d realized Gaius had once practiced it. Gaius…Gaius was not someone who would take advantage of the power he wielded. And he was sure his father, on some level, must have also known that. For all that Gaius had stopped practicing sorcery in accordance to Camelot’s laws, Arthur was certain that his father would have still sentenced him to death if he had believed the man would ever turn against Camelot. 

But he hadn’t. Uther had let him live, and Gaius was a trusted advisor and the court physician, and when sorcery was suspected, Gaius had proved time and again to be a valuable source of reliable information. 

This was simply another time where Gaius could provide them with information, if Arthur could get him to admit that he knew more than what he’d already said.

“I’m not planning on throwing Emrys in the dungeons when we find him,” Arthur said quietly. “Nor do I plan to order his execution on the spot.”

Guinevere looked at him evenly. “You plan to do what Uther would not, then,” she concluded. “You seek to understand.”

Arthur didn’t correct her.

She wasn’t really wrong.

She was too perceptive for that.

She sometimes knew his intentions better than he did himself.

“It may be for the best,” Gwen continued when he didn’t say anything. 

“We won’t know that,” Arthur said, “until we find him.”

He didn’t want to say _unless_. He didn’t want to admit the all-too-real possibility that his search for Emrys might come to naught. After all, if the man was a powerful sorcerer and he had remained hidden for this long….

“I pray it will be soon,” Gwen said simply.

So did he.

-|-

When Gwaine returned late that night, he did not, as Arthur had hoped, return with news.

“They met me,” he said, referring to the Druids, “before I got near where I thought they might be hiding. Thanked me for bringing Coran to them. Didn’t ask any questions.”

“They knew you were coming.”

“They at least suspected it and sent out a party to meet us,” Gwaine allowed. “Bit of a shame, really. I’d hoped to at least taste some mead before riding back.”

Arthur frowned. “They said nothing else? Nothing of Emrys?”

Gwaine grinned. “See, I knew you’d want me to ask that. Considering Coran had been asking after him, I mean. But all they told me was, ‘He bears our gift to your king.’ So we aren’t any further ahead when it comes to figuring out who he is. Just that he’s got something for you.”

Arthur’s frown deepened. “‘He bears our gift to your king’?” he repeated. “What gift?”

Gwaine shrugged.

“You’re certain they didn’t say anything else?”

Gwaine shook his head. “They weren’t a very talkative bunch.”

“Of course not,” Arthur muttered. But then a serving boy turned up with a plate of food and a tankard of ale for Gwaine, and Arthur could see the hunger written on the knight’s face. Even if he had stopped at a tavern before coming, he hadn’t had enough. Arthur dismissed him, confident that Gwaine had told him all he knew.

That was precious little, in Arthur’s opinion, but it was still something.

Something that didn’t help in the slightest, but something nonetheless.

“Did Coran say anything to you about this?” Arthur asked.

There was a pause. Then, “You’re talking to me, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m talking to myself,” Arthur snapped. “You’re the only one left in the room, Merlin. Of _course_ I’m talking to you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be the only one here if you’d listened to sense. Gwen said she wasn’t going to be getting any sleep until you came to bed, but no, you insisted she go anyway and that _I_ stay here to wait for Gwaine with you instead. What would you have done if he hadn’t come until tomorrow?”

“I’m not asking for your opinion on my decisions, Merlin,” Arthur ground out. “I wanted to know if Coran mentioned anything about a gift from the Druids.”

“Not to me,” Merlin admitted. “But for all I know, he didn’t even know about it.” Then, sounding slightly put out, he said, “Do you really think I’d keep something important like that from you?”

“Honestly?” Arthur glanced at Merlin. “Yes. Because it’s the sort of important little thing I’d expect you to forget.”

Merlin huffed. “I am not that forgetful.”

“No, you’re just ungrateful. Do you know how many servants would give their right arm to stand by my side like this? And all you do is complain about it.”

“Well, it mightn’t be so bad if you were better company,” Merlin retorted, but even Arthur could see that Merlin couldn’t keep the corners of his mouth from twitching upwards any longer.

“Can I have your honest opinion on something, Merlin?” Arthur asked at length.

“You always have my honest opinion, Arthur. You just usually choose to ignore it. Even when I’m right. _Especially_ when I’m right.”

Arthur chose to ignore Merlin’s comments. Though there was a bit of truth to them, he felt no need to admit that. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

Merlin, who had been reaching to refill Arthur’s goblet, paused. “In seeking out Emrys, you mean?” When Arthur didn’t reply, Merlin continued, “You’re more worried about the fact that you’re looking for a sorcerer, aren’t you?” Then, “Oh, no, that’s not it, is it? You’re worried about the fact that there might be a sorcerer here, right under your nose.”

He’d implied as much earlier, so Arthur didn’t bother confirming Merlin’s words. Sure enough, after Merlin had poured Arthur some more water and handed it to him, he said, “I don’t think it matters if you’re doing the right thing or not.”

Arthur frowned. “And what do you mean by that?”

Merlin shrugged. “I don’t think you’ll find him.”

Arthur arched an eyebrow. “You don’t think he’s here?” 

“I don’t think he wants to be found,” Merlin replied frankly. “You said yourself that if he is here, he’s disguised. You’re not exactly giving him a reason to come out of hiding.”

“I’ve made it clear he won’t come to any harm,” Arthur countered. “You were at the council meeting when I made the announcement. You know that.”

“I stood behind you with a pitcher of water no one called for, yes,” Merlin agreed, “so I know what you said. But think about it, won’t you? If this Emrys fellow doesn’t know you very well, why should he trust your word? The Pendragons don’t have a reputation for being friendly when magic is involved.”

“I have never—” Arthur began hotly, but he snapped his mouth shut before he could finish his denial. He had quite happily led the old man to his father, knowing full well it would get him executed. He’d done so because he’d known it would mean Gwen would be released.

He hadn’t been thinking, at the time, of the fact that he and Guinevere both knew they hadn’t been enchanted, which meant there was really no reason for him to come across the old man placing the poultice under his bed in the first place.

A magic poultice.

That hadn’t been the first time an unexplained magic poultice had turned up. No, that had happened the first time Gwen had been accused of magic, all because her father had been cured of the magical plague that had taken the lives of the rest of the infected.

Had that been Emrys, too? Even then? Even then, when Gwen had been nothing more than a serving girl, when Morgana had been good and Camelot’s greatest magical enemy had been Nimueh?

“That’s what I mean,” Merlin said, taking Arthur’s silence as his answer. “If you’re so convinced that Dragoon the Great is Emrys, then he’ll be well aware of the fact that you once tried to have him burned at the stake.”

“He should also know I didn’t seek him out after my father’s death,” Arthur countered.

“But you aren’t happy with him,” Merlin pointed out. “You’ll never be happy with him, not as long as you keep thinking that Uther’s death was his fault—or worse, _yours_ , for trying to save him.”

Arthur’s lips tightened. “And what makes you say that?” he asked carefully.

If Merlin heard the warning in Arthur’s words, he ignored it. “Because it’s true. I know what Gaius told you, Arthur, and I believe him. I don’t think it was the sorcerer’s fault, whoever he is, and it certainly isn’t yours for trying to save Uther. You know I would have done the same to save my father, if I could.” 

Merlin’s voice cracked on the last words. Arthur wondered, briefly, what had happened to Merlin’s father. He’d figured out that the man was dead, or at least presumed dead, for he certainly hadn’t been in Ealdor with the others and Merlin never really spoke of him, except to say he’d never known him.

But now was certainly not the time to speculate about that. 

“I know Camelot’s views of magic, Arthur,” Merlin said quietly, “and I understand how they came to be. And perhaps it’s because I didn’t grow up here, like you did, with a father who was telling me that sorcery was evil at every turn, but I truly believe that Emrys, whoever he is, only wants to help you. I’m sure that’s all he’s ever wanted since he came.” He was silent for a moment before adding, “But I cannot blame him for remaining in hiding, if that is what he does. He cannot save your life if he hasn’t his own.”

“But why would he save my life if he’s a sorcerer?” Arthur demanded. He was well aware that it was not the first time he’d asked that question, but he’d never gotten a satisfactory answer.

A small smile flickered across Merlin’s face, there and gone in an instant. “Perhaps he sees what I do. On rare occasions, Arthur— _very_ rare ones, mind, since I’ve known you to make plenty of absolutely prattish decisions—you prove that you’re everything people say about you. That you are the rightful king of Camelot and that you truly deserve your people’s respect. At the risk of making your already-swollen head as large as your waist, I have to say that you really are a good and just king. You are a great king. You rule well, and your people are happy.” Merlin paused. “Of course, you are woefully unprepared to protect yourself from magical attack—Morgana’s proved that over and over—so if Emrys is helping you by providing that protection, I shouldn’t think you’d want him to stop.”

“I don’t want him to stop—” Arthur argued.

“Don’t you?” Merlin asked, interrupting. “That’s why you’re trying to find him, isn’t it?”

“ _Mer_ lin—”

“Arthur, you’re seeking out a sorcerer. If you find him, what excuse are you going to have not to have him executed on the spot? Uther’s laws against sorcery haven’t been repealed. There’s not even any talk of it.”

“I haven’t made it known to everyone that he _is_ a sorcerer,” Arthur bit out. There was no point in reminding Merlin that _of course_ there weren’t any talks of repealing the ban on sorcery. It was _sorcery_. And Morgana was still out there.

“No, but it’s not going to take them very long to figure that out once he turns up, is it? You said yourself that people would recognize him. His death sentence still stands.”

That was all very true. Of course…. “Merlin, you almost sound like you don’t want him to die.”

Merlin’s mouth, which had been open, snapped shut. Then, finally, “If he has saved you, if he has saved any of us, I don’t think he should.”

“Even though you’re terrified of magic?”

Merlin sighed. “I’m not terrified of magic, Arthur.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And that’s why you make yourself scarce whenever there’s mention of it made?”

“I was friends with Will,” Merlin said quietly, “and even you saw how magic saved us when Ealdor was attacked. Dark magic has been used for dark purposes, yes, but not all magic is dark magic, and I do not think it all needs to be feared and treated so.” There was a pause. “Gaius used to use magic to heal, before the ban. I think…. I think it can be used for good, Arthur, and that Emrys has done his best to use it that way, if he has indeed saved you. Camelot would not be the same without you.”

“So you think a sorcerer has saved Camelot? Repeatedly?” Arthur did not hide the scepticism in his voice.

To his surprise, Merlin didn’t back down. Then again, Arthur supposed he shouldn’t _really_ be surprised. It wasn’t often Merlin changed his mind once he’d made it up. “If that sorcerer has saved you, then he has saved Camelot, whether you choose to recognize his efforts or not. So if you want my honest opinion, Arthur, then, no, I don’t think you’re doing the right thing, but I don’t think it matters either way, because I don’t think you’ll find Emrys until he chooses to come to you.”

When Arthur had asked Merlin for his opinion, he had not expected his manservant to contradict him. He’d just been looking for a confirmation of what he had already known, and he hadn’t gotten it. “So you think I couldn’t find him if I needed to?”

Merlin stiffened, and Arthur guessed it was in reaction to the bite in his tone. “I didn’t say that,” Merlin countered. “I’m just saying…. I don’t think you _need_ to find him. I think you’re wasting your resources looking for someone who doesn’t want to be found. If Emrys is powerful, then he can remain hidden.”

“Even if I bring in another witchfinder? I’m sure there are some skulking around somewhere. They cannot all be like Aredian.” Aredian had seemed impressive, yes. But the first person he’d accused was _Merlin_ , of all people, and he’d planted evidence and coerced a false confession from Gaius when he’d been a sorcerer himself all along. True, if he merely worked by calling out innocent people and planting evidence of sorcery with which to convict them, Arthur could see why he’d been successful.

But intending to frame Merlin as a sorcerer? _Merlin_? Arthur would have thought that Aredian would have picked someone who would have been believable. Gaius, at least, had practiced magic in the past, though Arthur had long since realized he’d likely only claimed Aredian’s evidence was his own to protect Merlin from the tortures he knew he’d face. Those two had as strong a bond as any one of blood that Arthur had known.

Stronger, in fact, since his bond of blood with Morgana stood for little more than their shattered childhood friendship.

Merlin’s thoughts, apparently, weren’t far from Arthur’s own. “And perhaps not all sorcerers are like Morgana or Morgause or Nimueh or—”

“You don’t need to list them, Merlin. I’m probably more aware of them than you are.”

“You asked my opinion.”

“Yes, and I’m regretting it. Merlin, I thought you were _against_ magic.”

Merlin was silent for a moment. Longer, perhaps. It was an irritatingly long time, anyway, given his swift replies earlier. Finally, staring down at the pewter pitcher in his hands, he said quietly, “When it's used for the wrong purpose, I am.”

“Then why are you _defending_ a sorcerer?” There was no need to quibble with Merlin about what purpose magic was used for now. Merlin already ought to know that every sorcerer used magic only for their own purposes and that, while that purpose may seem to benefit others, it was undoubtedly doing little more than setting the stage for the sorcerer’s next move. Ensuring complacency on their part, perhaps. Taking advantage of naïvely placed trust, of which Merlin clearly had an abundance. Something that, somehow, would eventually turn in favour of the sorcerer, most likely to the detriment of the rest of them.

Besides, this wasn’t the first time Arthur had let a near treasonous remark from Merlin slide. It was Merlin, after all.

Merlin looked up then, sharply, and Arthur couldn’t quite discern the meaning of the look in his eyes. “Do you remember,” Merlin asked, “what you promised the Druid boy?”

Arthur blinked. “Mordred?” He could guess how Merlin’s thoughts had turned to him—he’d been thinking of Mordred earlier himself—but he couldn’t guess what Merlin was getting at.

Merlin, however, shook his head. “No. I mean the little boy who was drowned during the attack you led on his camp.”

Arthur’s insides went cold. He knew who Merlin was talking about: the ghost child, the boy who had possessed Elyan.

“You said,” Merlin stated clearly, “‘From this day forth, the Druid people will be treated with the respect they deserve. I give you my word.’”

Arthur tried not to let it show quite how much those words unnerved him. “How do you even remember that?”

There was a seriousness on Merlin’s face that Arthur did not often see. “I remember it because you meant it, Arthur. I could see that. The boy could see that. That’s why he forgave you. That’s why he let you live and let Elyan go.”

“Why bring it up, then? I certainly didn’t wrong Coran. He’s back with his people. He’s safe. You heard Gwaine.”

“Coran came here looking for Emrys,” Merlin pointed out, “and Emrys is, apparently, well known by the Druids. Perhaps he is one himself.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No. But even if he isn’t, should you not show respect to him if they would? If you believe Emrys has saved you, then he has not done you harm. You have no good reason to be hunting him down.”

“I have every reason! He’s a sorcerer, in Camelot, and sorcery is banned!”

“So you would persecute him for using magic to save your life.”

“I am not going to _persecute_ him. I just want to _talk_ to him!”

“But he doesn’t know that, Arthur. Why should he come forward just because you’re looking for him? Because you say you won’t harm him? Perhaps, if you know who he is, he will not be able to do what he does. And if he can’t protect you—”

“I don’t _need_ his protection!”

“How do you know that? Just because he’s a sorcerer, it doesn’t make his protection less than that of any of the knights who fight alongside you in battle.”

“ _Mer_ lin, would you just listen? I’m the _king_. _I_ say what happens to him. And I’ve said I won’t harm him!”

Merlin was clutching the pitcher so tightly his knuckles were white. “So you’ve said,” Merlin allowed. “But how is he to know you can be trusted not to go back on your word?”

Arthur threw up his hands. “By that logic, I’ve no way of knowing he wouldn’t turn on me, either!”

“Sure you do,” Merlin said. “You’ve got all the years he’s saved your royal backside without any acknowledgement from anyone. If he’s as powerful as they say, Arthur, and he wanted Camelot destroyed, then why do you think Camelot is flourishing now? Camelot’s been much weaker in the past and much easier to take down. You know that as well as I.”

“That’s ridiculous, Merlin. He could just be biding his time.”

“Waiting for what, exactly? For Camelot to grow stronger?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Really, Merlin, do I need to explain this to you? It’s simple—”

“It’s not. It’s never been simple. If it were simple, then Emrys would openly stand beside you. Didn’t Gaius tell you, Arthur, that Emrys seeks to serve the Once and Future King? That it’s his destiny to do so?”

Arthur’s arguments died on his tongue. “What?”

Merlin suddenly looked as if he feared he’d said too much.

Arthur rather thought he hadn’t said enough.

“Would you care to explain that? Because no, Gaius conveniently left that part out.”

Merlin shifted on his feet, his surety of earlier gone. “I just…. It might be you, that king they speak of.”

“Right. Because Emrys has saved me before.”

Merlin shook his head. “That’s not why I think that. It’s….” He trailed off. When he started again, his voice had regained its certainty. “Arthur, you’re the true king of Camelot. You pulled the sword from the stone. You were the only one who could draw out that sword because you were destined to be Albion’s greatest king.”

Despite Merlin’s reassurances, his words were rather disquieting. Being Camelot’s true king, well, that he could believe. Rule by Morgana’s hand would be nothing less than tyranny. But _Albion_ ’s greatest king? He still didn’t feel worthy of that title. He felt no more worthy of that now than he had then.

He didn’t feel worthy of being called this ‘Once and Future King’, either, and he knew better than to think Merlin hadn’t been implying it. He wasn’t even sure if it was the first time Merlin had called him that, which made it all the worse, because then there was no denying Merlin had meant it rather than just said it in passing or in fun.

Yes, he’d always been grateful when Merlin had had so much faith in him, faith he hadn’t had in himself. Still, he didn’t like to think that this may be why. This, mere story, as opposed to anything he had done in the past to earn that faith.

“You can go, Merlin,” Arthur said evenly.

“Arthur….”

“You’re dismissed.”

“But I—”

“You didn’t want to be here before, remember? So now I’m saying you can go. Eat something, if you’re hungry, and get some sleep.” It wasn’t anger in his voice—he had asked Merlin’s opinion, after all—but even he wasn’t completely sure what was colouring his otherwise flat tone.

Merlin looked at him for a long moment. “Yes, sire.” And then he left.

And Arthur was alone.

And that was no better than it had been earlier, because his thoughts were just as loud and confused as before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to those of you who took the time to comment last chapter. I did quite appreciate it, and rest assured I've taken your opinions to heart. Also be assured that the kind comments spurred me to write this chapter a bit faster than I'd expected, so although it's not out much earlier than the last chapter was, it's out a good week and a half before I thought it would be, and that's the best reward I can give you.


	7. Chapter 7

A week passed.

No one came forward.

No one who _really_ knew anything, at least, and Arthur grew increasingly frustrated as each lead he chased came to naught.

Merlin, for his part, kept his mouth shut. He’d told Arthur far too much as it was. To prevent any chance of another outburst, he hadn’t said anything more on the subject. He hadn’t even gloated, though he was now thinking he ought to have. Aside from the fact that he was right, Arthur seemed to have been expecting it.

From the number of chores he had Merlin doing daily, it seemed Arthur took his silence to be a product of exhaustion and he wanted to keep it that way. He never liked being wrong.

Merlin, after washing off the horse manure that had managed to cling to him from the stables and happily changing into his last (mostly fresh) set of clothes, sat down at the table where Gaius was reading something by candlelight. 

“There’s soup in the pot,” Gaius said without looking up. “I kept it warm for you.”

Merlin groaned; he didn’t really want to move, but he _was_ hungry. He snatched up a bowl and spoon and dragged himself over to the pot. By the time he had filled his bowl and sat back down, Gaius had finished reading and was watching him.

“I hate mucking out the stables,” Merlin grumbled, taking a spoonful of soup. “I don’t think Arthur realizes exactly how much work that is.” He paused, then amended, “Well, no, I think he has a fair idea. But he certainly does know how terrible a job it is.”

“You could clean the leech tank tomorrow,” Gaius said.

Merlin made a face. “How is that going to help?”

“It will give you perspective,” Gaius replied, his seriousness melting away into a smile. “You can decide which of your duties is more unpleasant.”

Rather than dignify that with a retort, Merlin took another mouthful of soup.

“Arthur’s having no luck searching,” Gaius said a moment later.

“I know,” Merlin said. “But I warned him, so he can’t say he never expected it.”

“Guinevere told me Arthur’s going to send for me tomorrow,” Gaius informed him. “She said that she had no doubts that I am loyal to Camelot and that I might deserve some forewarning.”

The next swallow of soup scorched Merlin’s throat, but he forced himself to speak anyway. “He’s going to ask you about Emrys again?”

“That is my suspicion. He hasn’t had any luck elsewhere.”

“You can’t tell him any more. You shouldn’t have told him as much as you did!”

“It may not be entirely unwise for Emrys to make an appearance, Merlin. You told me yourself that Arthur knows Emrys has a gift for him from the Druids. He’ll be expecting him to show up sometime.”

“No, he’s expecting the sorcerer he thinks killed his father to show up sometime,” Merlin corrected. “I’d rather not have that happen.”

“Morgana has made the connection between Emrys and your older self. There is no harm if Arthur makes the same connection as long as he does not realize you are the one with magic.”

“But he might. That’s the problem. Because if I’m eighty years old and not looking like myself, he can’t find me. And if he can’t find me, he’ll start to wonder.” Another spoonful of soup. 

“I’ll send you out gathering herbs,” Gaius said simply. “You may be Arthur’s manservant, but you are my apprentice and assistant as well. He will not find it unusual.”

Merlin sighed. “Gaius, I don’t want to show up until Arthur’s finished searching for me.”

“And he won’t be finished until he finds you. He has no reason to stop, Merlin, and many reasons to keep looking.”

Merlin looked at Gaius and knew what the physician did not say. “I have to give him the pendant.”

“I fear it is unwise to keep it hidden for long.”

Merlin knew what that meant, too: don’t keep putting it off. “I’ll get some herbs in the morning, then, and sneak back in the afternoon to put in my appearance.” He took another swallow of soup. “And if Arthur detains me, Gaius, please, whatever you do, _don’t_ tell him I went to the tavern.”

“He makes his own assumptions, my boy.”

“Let him make _different_ assumptions. He always gives me twice as many chores when I get back from doing whatever important thing I was doing—all because he thinks I spent the day in the tavern. Honestly, he never checks. He doesn’t even ask Gwaine if he ever saw me. He just assumes I’ve gone off and that I should make up for it by working twice as hard the next day. I hardly get any sleep those nights with all the work I’m doing.”

“Then I’d suggest you rest up tonight,” Gaius said. At Merlin’s look, he added, “Just in case.”

Merlin drained the rest of his soup from the bowl; it was mostly broth now, anyway. It had been mostly broth to begin with. “This means I won’t have time to clean the leech tank tomorrow.”

Gaius smiled. “Indeed. But you needn’t worry; I’m sure it can wait a few more days. You can clean it when this is over.”

Merlin rolled his eyes at those encouraging words and readied himself for bed. Today had been a long day—he’d been working since dawn and it was now well after dusk—and tomorrow would, with his luck, be longer. Gaius was right. He would need his rest. The last thing he needed was to get tongue-tied in a conversation with _Arthur_ , of all people, just because he hadn’t gotten enough sleep.

-|-

Someone other than Merlin attended to him in the morning, and, truthfully, Arthur didn’t hear anything past ‘gathering herbs for Gaius’ when he asked the boy where his manservant had gone. He knew Merlin had duties stemming from his place as Gaius’s assistant and he didn’t begrudge that, but he couldn’t help but suspect that Gaius had sent Merlin out for the day to get him away from Arthur.

At least it wasn’t the tavern. Not that Arthur would entirely blame Merlin if he tried to drown his exhaustion; he knew he was working Merlin hard. Well, harder than usual. But if it kept Merlin’s tongue still, Arthur was happy to do it. Not that Merlin needed to actually _say_ anything relating to ‘I told you so’. The expression was clear on his face. He’d been wearing a near-permanent smirk all week, and Arthur’s glaring had done nothing to lessen it.

But Gaius confirmed the herb story when Arthur called for him later, and he didn’t seem surprised that Arthur wanted to question him further on the issue of Emrys. Gaius was intuitive, and he was far from a fool. It was a shame none of that rubbed off on his ward.

“No one is coming forward,” Arthur stated bluntly. Gaius knew this already, but it certainly bore repeating.

“Indeed.”

He wanted more of an explanation than that. “Have you any idea why?”

“It is quite possible, sire, that Emrys does not wish to be found. I imagine that it is within his power to remain hidden from you if that is his desire.”

Merlin had said much the same. “I’m not sure if you’ve been informed, but Gwaine was told that Emrys had a gift for me from the Druids.”

“Merlin made mention of it.”

“Would it not make sense, then, for Emrys to _deliver_ it?”

“I cannot wager a guess as to what is on his mind, sire,” Gaius reminded him. At Arthur’s look, he relented and said, “He may be waiting for the right moment.”

“Then he may be waiting for a moment that will never come,” Arthur realized. Despite what Merlin thought, being royal—and therefore getting everything that that position entitled him—didn’t go to his head. At least, he tried not to let it. Most of the time. But somehow, knowing that someone had a gift for him and was going to withhold it for an indefinite amount of time irked him. He told himself it was for curiosity’s sake. His run-ins with the Druids were still few and far between, but they had been civil as late. He certainly didn’t think they’d try to do anything rash, like give him something that was meant to slowly destroy him as retribution for his past transgressions.

But perhaps Emrys had found reason to be suspicious, or at the very least, more cautious. Or perhaps he did not wish for any understanding to be formed between Camelot and the Druid people. Or perhaps—

“I believe it would be wise to trust his judgement,” Gaius said simply. “If your suspicions of Emrys’s identity are correct, then you must be assured that he means well.”

Arthur’s voice, when he spoke, had gone flat. “You mean that, even if I don’t see any reason to put any stock into what the Druids say, Emrys can be trusted because he hasn’t tried to kill me yet, despite having ample opportunity.”

Gaius was silent. Then, “Yes.”

“Would you trust him, Gaius, if you were in my position?”

The answer was the same: “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I try to judge people on their actions, sire, rather than by who they appear to be on the surface.”

That wasn’t much different, Arthur figured, than what he’d done with the knights: he’d chosen men who were worthy of the title rather than only those of noble birth. It was a policy that had served him well, for all that it went against tradition and, undoubtedly, his father’s approval. In theory, he would do well to apply that same policy in other areas.

In theory.

But sorcerers….

“Gaius,” Arthur asked carefully, “when you said that you hoped I would one day realize how much people did for me—were you referring to Emrys?”

Arthur watched the aging physician carefully, but he showed no sign of unease. “No.”

“Who did you mean?”

Gaius lifted his head, just slightly. “You are surrounded by many people, Arthur, and many of them serve you not just because you are the king of Camelot.”

It wasn’t enough of an answer, but Arthur knew that he would not get much more of one even if he pressed for it. “Do you, by any chance, know Emrys?”

“No. No more than you do, I’m afraid, if Emrys is who you believe him to be, and I have already told you what the Druids say about him.”

“Merlin said more,” Arthur said. “He said that Emrys seeks to serve someone.”

If the information startled Gaius, he didn’t show it. “That is a possibility, sire.”

“Do you have any idea where Merlin would have heard this, if not from you?”

“I cannot say. Though you may find it hard to believe, Merlin hears much more than he ever says. He has been many places with you that I have not.”

It struck Arthur that he did not know how much of Gaius’s words were truth. It was disheartening. He’d seen Gaius lie before, to his uncle, but…. “Have you ever heard of the Once and Future King?”

“The term is a familiar one,” Gaius allowed, “but I cannot recall anything about it.”

Perhaps Gaius wasn’t lying to him now. Perhaps Coran had talked to Merlin, and Merlin thought he was protecting the boy from Arthur by keeping his silence. Perhaps he thought he was protecting Arthur himself, since he seemed to believe with inexplicable certainty that Emrys would do nothing to harm Camelot but would do everything to protect Arthur.

“And you’ve heard nothing from any of your patients about Emrys? Even if not by that name?”

“I’m afraid not. I’ve heard no whispers of any sorcerers for some time now.”

That was perfectly plausible, seeing as no sorcerers had surfaced for some time now. But Arthur couldn’t shake the feeling that as much as Gaius looked to be completely truthful, he wasn’t. He would never take action against Gaius without due cause, would never have him arrested on trumped up charges of treason or the like, but he could not promise never to doubt.

And even if he hated to admit it to himself, he did doubt.

“You are aware,” Arthur said slowly, “of the penalties of protecting a sorcerer.” He had little intention of enforcing them, even now, so desperate was he to locate Emrys, especially if there was any chance that Gaius was involved simply by withholding information, but….

“I can assure you, sire, that I only mean the best for you and for Camelot. I realize that there are times when I must breach the confidentiality I grant my patients, if only to disclose important information to you without revealing my source. You know this.”

Arthur didn’t need to ask a final question— _“Are you protecting him, Gaius?”_ —for the answer was clear enough as it was. “Thank you. That is all. And when Merlin gets back, send him to me.”

“I shall, sire,” Gaius said, bowing before taking his leave.

Gaius knew.

He must know.

Arthur had no idea how, but he was certain that Gaius knew. If not who Emrys was or where he was to be found, Gaius at least knew something. 

But he was equally certain that Gaius’s words about his loyalty to him and to Camelot, and his good intentions toward both, were true. However, it was certainly possible for Gaius to mean well and to keep silent on the issue of Emrys. If Gaius believed Emrys to be protecting Camelot, to be protecting _him_ , the king, then he would see no reason to jeopardize Emrys’s well-kept secrets. Not when he meant the best for Camelot and her king.

That knowledge, however, was a cold comfort.

-|-

Merlin still wasn’t entirely convinced this was a good idea, but he was doing it anyway. He’d left the city early this morning—on foot, since he hadn’t wanted to deal with the trouble of a horse, despite how much time that would have saved him—and slipped back in just after midday. Though he had some of the herbs Gaius needed—sticklewort, comfrey, nettle, things like that—they were tucked away in a satchel, and with the hood of his (borrowed) cloak pulled low, no one had realized that he was back in the city.

Especially since he hadn’t gone in the conventional way.

Gaius had left his ‘Emrys’ robe where he’d asked—just inside the passageway that led down to the cavern where Kilgharrah had been kept—and, after using the aging spell, he pulled it on and left the cloak and herbs there for Gaius to collect when he could. Merlin spied the walking stick Gaius had left as well and smiled. Trust Gaius to know how long it would take him to get up all those stairs to Arthur’s chambers without it.

He had never explicitly planned on intercepting Arthur in his chambers, but it would be a moment before Arthur could call on everyone else if Merlin caught him there—particularly if he’d distracted the guards outside the door—and Merlin didn’t want to give Arthur a chance to muster up all his manpower before he got a word in edgewise.

Despite what Arthur said, Merlin didn’t think now was the right time to trust him.

Not even with only a piece of the story.

True, Merlin didn’t think Arthur would order his execution on the spot, but turning up when Arthur was _looking_ for him just felt like walking up and blurting out the entire truth and thinking nothing would change. Because he wasn’t naïve enough to think that Arthur would just accept him without batting an eye. And despite what Arthur thought, he wasn’t that stupid, either. Even if Arthur could get over the magic part, there was still the lying part.

It had been necessary. It still was necessary. Merlin knew that, and Arthur would realize it, but it wouldn’t make the pain of the lies any less.

Merlin was rather surprised by how easily he could make his way through the castle. It helped that he knew it like the back of his hand, of course. He knew which corridors to avoid and where all the servants’ passages were and when they were likely to be in use. Locked doors were no trouble. It was easy enough to distract people who were in his way. Something clattering to the floor here, a door closing there. Little things, mostly. They didn’t need to be big things when he only needed the diversion for the few seconds it would take to slip back out of sight.

Merlin was rather relieved to see two guards still standing outside Arthur’s chambers by the time he finally arrived. The last thing he would have needed now was for Arthur to have finished his lunch and gone off to the council room or the throne room or wherever else. True, Merlin could have gotten into both rooms without using the main entrance, but he hadn’t wanted to chase Arthur all around the castle. 

He ached.

That was definitely one of the downfalls of being old.

If he’d thought he could get away with it, he wouldn’t have done the aging spell until he’d been _much_ closer to Arthur’s chambers, but there were far fewer hiding spots in the main part of the castle and he hadn’t thought it worth the risk. True, if someone had seen him like this, he would have been brought before Arthur anyway, but since he was supposed to be brilliant at hiding in plain sight, he figured it would be much better if he could surprise Arthur on his own terms.

Merlin peered carefully around the corner, glad, not for the first time, that his eyesight was no worse. “ _Leohtbora_ ,” he whispered. The torch at the end of the hall flickered to life. The guards noticed this, and one went off to investigate. Predictable, as always. But both guards would move fairly quickly if the flames happened to flare higher, with sparks reaching and catching on the tapestry that hung nearby…. “ _Bæl on byrne_.”

It wouldn’t take them long to put it out, but by that time, Merlin would be safely in Arthur’s chambers.

Arthur didn’t look up from his desk when Merlin entered. “You can take the plate away,” he said, waving a hand. “I’ve finished.”

There were so many different ways he could start. Something impressive-sounding, like, “I hear you’ve been looking for me.” Except, knowing Arthur, he’d take that as more ominous and throw him in the dungeons straight away. Of course, knowing Arthur, he’d be tempted to do that on principle if Merlin said much of anything. So, Merlin settled for the old standby: act irritable and insult Arthur as much as he could get away with. “I didn’t come here just to clear away your mess,” he snapped.

Arthur looked up immediately, his eyes widening to near comedic proportions. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again, but still no sound came out.

“Nothing to say?” Merlin taunted. “After all the trouble you’ve gone to searching for me, you’ve nothing to say? Should I just leave? Save you the trouble of wracking your brain to come up with anything?”

“I—you—no!” Arthur spluttered. “You really are Emrys, then?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “It didn’t take Morgana so long to realize, but then again, you always were the slow one.” Not to mention Morgana had prophetic dreams, but if Arthur hadn’t realized that Morgana’s ‘nightmares’ of the past were products of her magic, either….

Arthur looked indignant. “I am not _slow_.”

“Thick, then. But it’s just as well with you. If you didn’t have such a thick skull, all those blows to the head would have rattled your wits more than they already have.” Before Arthur could come up with another retort, Merlin added, “But you were right to let the Druid boy go, so I suppose that’s something.”

“You know about Coran?”

Merlin snorted. Trust Arthur to sound so bewildered by something everyone else would have assumed. “He was looking for me, wasn’t he? Did a better job of it than you.”

“What? When did he _possibly_ have time to find you?”

“I found him,” Merlin said bluntly, “the same way I found you. But he at least had the decency to search _quietly_. You, on the other hand, would have half the kingdom out scouring the woods for me if you thought it would do any good.”

Arthur, whose lips had been parted and were likely about to spit out a denial, shut his mouth. A frown crossed his features. “You didn’t free him.”

“Didn’t need to. You arranged that.”

Arthur straightened at that. “How do you _know_ all this?”

Merlin just gave him the look that Arthur usually favoured him with—the one that clearly questioned how much of an idiot he truly was. “I knew when your father was ill and what you wanted to ask of me. I knew when Morgana framed Guinevere as a sorceress and you were about to renounce your claim to the throne to be with her. How much do you think I don’t know, Arthur Pendragon?” He debated mentioning Arthur’s mistreatment of servants but figured he’d be better off using that particular remark later.

Arthur swallowed and didn’t answer. Instead, he asked, “Is it all true?” After a split second’s hesitation, he added, “Everything the Druids say about you. About Emrys.”

To be honest, Merlin had rather been expecting Arthur to ask after his gift. “They think so,” he said, “but nothing will be true until it’s finished, and it’s not finished yet.” 

Arthur looked puzzled. “What’s not finished?”

“What do you think? Destiny, boy! It’s not been fulfilled. All that they talk about has not yet come to pass. So the story’s not finished. If you’d use your head, you wouldn’t ask such idiotic questions.”

Arthur looked at him for a moment. “And have you…saved me, like Morgana believes? Have you saved Camelot?”

Merlin smiled. “More times than you’ll ever realize. And what did I get in return? Nearly got burned at the stake for my trouble once. That was pleasant. Sat tight in the cell so I could have my say before I left. You don’t realize how much I’ve done, Arthur Pendragon, and some days I wonder if you ever will.”

“But…but why? Why do this? Camelot’s no friend to your kind!”

“And she never will be,” Merlin replied, “unless _you_ can be made to see that we’re not all the same and set on destroying you or your kingdom. What I told you when you came to me for help has not changed; I wish that those who practice magic can live in peace.”

“But you killed my father.” The words were spoken quietly, sadly, in a very un-Arthur-like manner. 

Merlin knew he could not tell Arthur the truth of what had happened; not like this, anyway. Not now. Even in light of the truth about Morgana and Agravaine, he would not be inclined to trust the word of a sorcerer. “That was not my intention. I did my best to save him, as I had saved him in the past. The force of death cannot always be held back, even by magic.”

Arthur said nothing.

Merlin reached into his pocket and drew out the pendant. He held it out to Arthur. “A gift,” he said, “from the Druid people. They mean to make peace with Camelot. While you have done no harm to them during your reign, they are not yet safe in your lands. It is their hope that this will change.”

Arthur looked at it warily before accepting it. “When did they give this to you?”

“The boy’s mother left it in my care,” Merlin replied. “She sacrificed her life to protect it, to keep it safe from those who would use it in ill. Let not her sacrifice, nor that of her family’s, be in vain, Arthur Pendragon. Use it well.”

Arthur looked paler than before now. “What is it? What does it do?”

“It is the Stone of Æthelu,” Merlin answered. “It was long thought lost, but it has been kept safe for many years, and now it lies in your hands. It will allow you, the wearer, to see the true intentions of those around you. If you choose to use it, do so with caution and care. Knowledge is not a simple thing and can be a great burden to bear. You would do well not to shoulder it unnecessarily lest you find yourself no longer capable of trust.”

“I don’t….” Arthur looked at the pendant again. “I don’t think I want this.”

Oh, of course. Fear the magical artefact. “Too bad,” Merlin snapped. “You were entrusted with it. It’s in your protection now. Lock it up in the vaults if you don’t want it in your sight, but remember it was given in good faith.”

He turned, and Arthur jumped to his feet. “You’re not going?” he asked, sounding incredulous.

Merlin stopped and looked back. “Of course I’m going. I’m no use to anyone standing around here.”

“But I’m not finished talking to you!”

“Well, _I’m_ finished talking to _you_ ,” Merlin retorted. 

“Guards!” Arthur shouted. 

Merlin really shouldn’t have expected any less. Arthur was used to getting his way. But when the guards burst into Arthur’s chambers, Merlin did what was expected of him as an escaping sorcerer: with nothing more than a wave of his hand, he threw them back (gently enough that he wouldn’t hurt them but hard enough to knock the wind out of them) and hobbled (quickly) away. Arthur took chase, naturally, but Merlin was already pulling out the potion Gaius had prepared for him. A sharp right took him into an empty corridor, and he just had to hide the walking stick, pull off the robe, down the potion….

When Arthur rounded the corner, he stopped short. “Merlin! What are you doing here?”

Merlin, who was holding a rather telltale bundle of red clothing behind his back, plastered an innocent smile on his face. “Looking to see if you needed anything before I find something to eat?” he ventured.

“I thought you were out gathering herbs for Gaius again.”

“I was. I just…hadn’t packed anything to eat, so I came back. I didn’t think it would take me very long.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You’re never prepared for anything, are you, Merlin?” Then, “Can you at least tell me which way he went?”

“Which way who went?”

“Emrys!”

“Emrys?”

“The old sorcerer! He’s Emrys! And he was just here, but now he’s gotten away!”

“Oh.” Merlin bit his lip. “He, um, didn’t go this way. He must have gone straight past.”

Arthur frowned at him. “Merlin, I saw him turn down this corridor.”

“Are you sure you aren’t seeing things, then?”

“Yes, I’m sure. _My_ eyesight is perfectly fine. _Yours_ , on the other hand, clearly is not, if you can’t even—” Arthur broke off. “You were at the tavern this morning, weren’t you?”

“What?” Merlin blinked. “No! Of course not!”

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice if you went earlier instead of later?” Arthur said disdainfully. “Get some food, then, if you can even stomach it. You’re useless to me the way you are now. And then you can muck out the stables again.”

“I did that last night!”

“And it’s the stables. It may not be as bad, but rest assured, Merlin, there will still be work for you to do there. If you think otherwise, I can always have you scrub them down.” Merlin knew better than to say anything, so Arthur merely continued, “And since that won’t take you very long, you can polish all the knights’ boots once you’re done, and then….”

Merlin sighed. Gaius was right; this was going to be a long day for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? Write what I should be writing, write what's fun to be writing.... Add in comments from you folks (thank you for those!), and there's really no contest.


	8. Chapter 8

“Arthur, you’ve been staring at that pendant all evening. Come rest.” Arthur remained at his desk, and Guinevere sighed. She tried a different tack. “You should apologize to Merlin for earlier.”

Arthur finally tore his eyes off the pendant and looked up at her. “Apologize for what?”

“For how you treated him. He was out gathering herbs this morning. Gaius is drying some of them now. You shouldn’t have just assumed that he went to the tavern.”

“Then his reflexes are too bloody slow,” Arthur muttered. “He let Emrys slip right past him!”

There it was: the real thing that was troubling Arthur. “By that account, so did you. So did your guards. We all did. You can’t blame Merlin for being unable to stop a sorcerer.”

“He’s a doddery old man!”

“With magic,” Gwen reminded him. “It makes all the difference. Merlin’s a better servant than you believe, Arthur.”

“Merlin’s a terrible servant!”

“He’s not, not really. He may not treat you with the same amount of respect as the others, but his work—”

“Is _atrocious_ ,” Arthur cut in. “Have you seen what he calls ‘polished armour’?”

Gwen moved to perch on the edge of the desk. “I know how much work is typically required of a servant,” she said quietly, “and I know how much work Merlin does. There are times that he can do thrice what I ever could in half the time.”

“Because he doesn’t put much effort into it,” Arthur pointed out.

Gwen shook her head. “He does. He does, and you know it. And aside from being your manservant, he has duties that fall to him because he helps Gaius. Besides, you cannot deny that you have been working him hard this past week. Merlin’s tired. He’s awake before you ever are and I’ve no doubt in bed long after. Perhaps Emrys did manage to slip by him, Arthur, but you shouldn’t punish him for it. Emrys seems to have a way of disappearing, and he certainly has a talent for keeping hidden. I do not think you would have found him if he hadn’t come to you.”

Arthur didn’t argue with her, and Gwen took that to mean she had won. While she rather doubted Arthur would actually apologize to Merlin, she thought he might heed her words and lighten his load a bit. Arthur had to know, on some level, that he had been pushing Merlin too hard. It wasn’t right to take all his frustrations out on one man.

Arthur’s eyes had found the pendant again. “It’s magic, you know,” he said.

“So you’ve said.”

“But…magic. I can’t…. What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Whatever you deem best,” Gwen answered easily. “You should trust your judgement, Arthur, and trust your instincts. You’ll make the right decision.”

Arthur ran his fingers through his hair. “I wish I believed in myself as much as you believe in me.”

Gwen smiled and took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “You needn’t have so many doubts.” She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts for now. I pray that you’ll be ready to rest when I return.”

The smile Arthur gave her was small and crooked. “I love you, Guinevere.”

“And I you,” she replied, smiling herself. She gave his hand one last squeeze and then his attention dropped away from her again. She withdrew quietly, hesitating outside the door for a moment. But her feet knew where to go, and they led her to Gaius and Merlin. She knocked and entered when they bade her to.

“You look worried, my lady,” Gaius observed.

“It’s just Gwen,” she reminded him. “I’ve known you too long for formalities.” But she bit her lip, knowing that she had also known him too long to be able to evade the question. “It’s Arthur,” she said. “He’s…preoccupied.”

Merlin snorted. “Tell me about it. Nearly snapped my head off when I dropped off his dinner.” He paused. “Mind you, for Arthur, that’s normal.”

“He’s not in the best of moods,” she allowed. “I’m sorry, Merlin. I know you weren’t in the tavern earlier. I think even Arthur knows that. He just….”

“Wanted to take out his frustration on me,” Merlin said, sounding too cheerful to be believed. “Yes, I’ve come to expect that.” His tone dropped off again, losing its false note. “It’s Emrys, isn’t it, that he’s worried about?”

“He’s not comfortable with…any of this, really.” Gwen’s fingers worried the hem of her sleeve. “I know, it’s silly, I shouldn’t expect him to be, and I don’t, really, but—”

“Have a seat, Gwen,” Gaius said, patting the bench beside him. She sank down gratefully. “Would you care for something to eat?”

It was only then that she realized she’d interrupted their meal. It was late, like so many of her meals had often been…. Gwen shook her head. “No, thank you, but please, don’t stop on my account.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Merlin informed her, the cheer in his voice genuine this time. He ate a mouthful of stew to prove his point. 

Gwen smiled, but it was a small smile. She wasn’t sure how much to say. She trusted them both, she did, but a discussion about anything related to magic was…dangerous in Camelot, no matter who you were. She didn’t want to get anyone into trouble. Of course, Arthur’s preoccupation had not gone unnoticed by anyone, but the true reason for it was not common knowledge.

Still, Merlin and Gaius both knew the real reason already, so there was no cause for her not to speak freely. She was among friends, and she’d already trusted them before. Merlin had known about her love for Arthur long before she’d admitted it to anyone else, and Gaius had been the first one she’d told when she’d realized Morgana was practicing magic….

“Arthur was told that the pendant, the gift, was called the Stone of Æthelu. Have you heard of it?”

Gaius and Merlin exchanged glances. “I have,” Gaius said. “It is rumoured to allow its wearer to see the true intentions of others.”

Gwen nodded. “That’s what Emrys told Arthur. But he said he was also warned about what that knowledge could do, and he’s sure there’s some price involved that he’s not aware of, and since he knows how high those prices tend to be….” She trailed off. “Do you think it’s safe, Gaius, if he does decide to use it?”

“I do not think Arthur would fall easily into the temptation to abuse the Stone’s power,” Gaius said slowly, “and its use would not disrupt the greater balance of the world. Yes, I believe he would be safe, should he choose to make use of it.”

Relief flooded through Gwen; she hadn’t realized quite how much Arthur’s fears had become her own. “So you truly believe the Stone is safe? That…that Emrys isn’t like….” 

“Morgana?” Merlin supplied. Gwen nodded. “He’s not, in my opinion,” Merlin said. “I mean, since Emrys _is_ that old man, then he _has_ saved Arthur. Well, he saved you, anyway, from banishment, and Arthur from himself. And since he made sure Arthur didn’t give up the throne, well, that means he’s saved Camelot, too, doesn’t it? It wouldn’t be the same if Arthur weren’t king.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” Gwen admitted softly. “I was just…. I’m not sure. I want to be grateful, since Arthur believes Emrys may have saved his life before, but we’ve seen so many sorcerers turn against us, I just couldn’t….”

“I’ve dabbled in sorcery myself in the past,” Gaius said quietly. “Magic itself is not inherently evil. It can be used for good, as Emrys is doing, or it can be used for ill, as Morgana is doing.”

“Oh,” Gwen said, Gaius’s words reminding her why she’d first come to him when she’d seen Morgana using magic. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Merlin said, glancing at Gaius to confirm the truth of his statement. “Almost everyone in Camelot thinks like you do. That’s what Uther taught.” Another spoonful of stew, then, “Cenred wasn’t much better, really, since he only saw sorcery as a means for ill gain, but we didn’t listen much to him. No reason to, when he cared so little for us.”

“That’s right. I’d forgotten you weren’t from Camelot.” Gwen shook her head. “I’m forgetting a great many things lately.”

“You’re worried about Arthur,” Gaius pointed out. “Forgetfulness can be a natural consequence when your concern lies elsewhere.”

Gwen smiled self-consciously. “It can,” she agreed. She sat in silence then, waiting for Merlin and Gaius to finish their meals. She trusted Gaius’s judgement over Arthur’s when it came to matters of magic; she trusted Gaius’s judgement over everyone’s, really, when it came to that. Unlike her, he had known a society that had not feared the very whisper of magic. He had seen more than one side of it. He wasn’t blinded by fear of it, though he knew caution for he still respected it.

Magic was power, even in Camelot.

Or perhaps _especially_ in Camelot.

“Should I try to talk Arthur out of it?” she asked at length.

“Out of what?” Merlin queried as he scraped the last of the stew from his bowl.

“Everything, really. Using the pendant, if he is inclined to. His continued search for Emrys, which will be stronger now that he’s appeared. His sudden interest in the legends of the Druids….” She trailed off, watching Merlin’s expression. “He went to talk to Geoffrey himself today,” she explained, “though he soon realized that there are no books to be found on the subject. Not any more, anyway, or at least not in the library.”

“He never mentioned anything to me about it,” Merlin muttered.

“Well, you were a bit…busy.” Merlin snorted at this, evidently thinking it a bit much of an understatement, and Gwen couldn’t help but laugh. It was…relieving, to be honest. This entire situation had her on edge. Watching Arthur alone was enough to put anyone on edge.

“I’m afraid his interest in what the Druids say is my fault,” Gaius told her. “It was I who informed him of what they say about Emrys.”

“But I don’t think Arthur’s going to have any luck trying to research the matter,” Merlin put in, “so you might as well talk him out of that. If Emrys really is as powerful as they say, he’s not going to just make it easy for Arthur to find him when it’s in his best interests to hide.”

“I suspected as much,” Gwen admitted. 

“I tried to talk him out of looking in the first place,” Merlin said, “but you know how much he listens to me. You’re the only one besides his father he’d even consider listening to.”

Gwen’s lips twitched into a smile. “I’m sure he listens.”

Merlin seemed to know what she wasn’t saying. “Yes, but it doesn’t help much if he chooses to ignore it, does it?” He shook his head. “If Arthur would just listen to me, he’d be a lot better off. I know more than he thinks I do.”

“Everyone knows more than he thinks they do,” Gwen reminded him, “if he’s in one of his moods.”

“Which he always is when it comes to me,” Merlin said. “And he wonders why I call him names when he’s being particularly thick-headed. I’m just returning the favour.”

For a blessed moment, Gwen was able to forget what had brought her here. She was able to put all her worries out of her mind and talk with her friends about her husband, poking fun at his loveable faults and silently counting his virtues that, often, were founded in those same faults. The double-edged sword of his stubbornness. His loyalty. His determination. His courage. His love for his people, even when he didn’t necessarily show it to those who deserved it most, like Merlin. But she and Merlin both knew Arthur’s acceptance of Merlin’s arguable disrespect was proof in itself, for Merlin helped keep Arthur grounded and Arthur knew that. He valued it, as did she.

Arthur had been much less…. Well, no, he’d been much _more_ since Merlin had come into his life. He’d become _Arthur_ , the Arthur he was today, the Arthur she loved more dearly than anyone else. 

The Arthur who was, currently, puzzling over a magical artefact, because he was still very much his father’s son.

“What about the pendant?” she asked. “I told him to trust his judgement, that _I_ trust his judgement, and I do, but I just—”

“Arthur will do what he believes is best,” Gaius said calmly.

“Besides,” Merlin added, “there’s no way even you can win on all fronts. Maybe….” He trailed off, sneaking a look at Gaius. “Maybe it is better if he keeps puzzling over this himself, letting it serve as a distraction? I know he comes to you for advice often, Gwen, but if you just turn it around on him, he’ll be forced to make the decision for himself.”

“He always makes the decision for himself,” Gwen said quietly. “Even if he does ask my advice on the matter, he has already made up his own mind. He merely wishes to affirm that he has made the right choice, something I’ve told him time and again I am never more certain of than he.”

“He seeks your advice as much for confirmation as he does to prepare you,” Gaius observed.

Gwen knew what Gaius meant, but the truth twisted in her stomach. It was a cold, uneasy feeling. “Prepare me?” she whispered.

“For when the time comes for you to rule,” Gaius replied gently.

Merlin caught her eye and must have noted the fear in it. “That won’t be for a long time,” he assured her. “Not if I can help it, anyway.”

The words helped ease the knot in her stomach. She wasn’t sure why, entirely—Merlin could give her no more assurances of Arthur’s safety than anyone else—but she was grateful for it nonetheless. And perhaps…. Perhaps, if she could convince Arthur to end his search for Emrys, Merlin’s words _would_ be true, for Camelot would retain its protector.

It felt strange to think of a sorcerer protecting Camelot, protecting Arthur, but…. It seemed right, somehow. Fitting. 

True.

Like it was supposed to be that way, even if the notion should sound absurd.

And…she was grateful for that, even if she couldn’t entirely explain why.

-|-

All he had were fragments of the whole, a whole whose shape he did not know. A few lines of a story here, a few words from a more questionable source there. The odd clue. Bits and pieces of the truth, but not enough—never enough—to make any sense of it.

Arthur had had enough run-ins with sorcerers and magical creatures themselves to know they often spoke in riddles, but this was ridiculous.

He was missing something.

Some very important piece of the overall puzzle.

The keystone piece, likely as not. The one that would serve to connect the remaining pieces together, allowing them to form a picture that he had yet to make out.

Worse yet, he had the feeling that he’d been missing this particular fragment for years.

And if Emrys was connected to it, which he very likely was, then the answer Arthur was looking for could be right under his nose and he just couldn’t see it.

He remembered, back when he’d gone on his quest for the Golden Trident of the Fisher King, that he’d met the guardian of a bridge, a dwarf of a man who had so clearly possessed magic. Arthur couldn’t remember his name now, but he remembered his words. He’d called Arthur Courage, as if he had embodied the quality itself, and given him a bit of advice: _“As Courage, there are two more things you’ll need to complete your quest: Strength and Magic.”_

While Arthur would admit to himself that he had indeed had help completing his quest—Gwaine and Merlin, something which he knew without doubt had been orchestrated by Merlin—he had done so without magic. For all that the laws of the Fisher King’s lands were different from those of Camelot, he had not thought….

But then, he never would have. Not when it came to magic. But if Emrys had somehow been involved in that, too, then magic would have been involved, all without his notice. Perhaps he’d had more help than he’d thought.

He wasn’t sure if it was more than he wanted. 

He knew, even if he would never admit it, how close he had come to death. The wyverns had nearly been the instrument of it. He’d had so little energy that entire journey….

He often speculated if his lack of faith in himself stemmed from that journey, from knowing he had not completed the quest alone like he was supposed to. Whether the help he had been given meant that he was not truly worthy of Camelot’s throne. But then he thought of Gwen’s words, and Merlin’s, and he wondered if he could live up to them, if he could be—if he _was_ —the man they believed him to be. The true king of Camelot, capable of pulling a sword from solid stone.

“I don’t like not knowing the answers,” Arthur remarked loudly. There was no one else to hear him—Guinevere had yet to return—but he’d hoped saying something, anything, would allow things to become clearer.

It didn’t.

Being king often meant that he could demand answers. Uther had done so many times. But demanding answers did not guarantee answers, or at least not truthful ones, and sometimes (though rarely) demands were met with refusal. And sometimes the answers given were ones that no one wished to hear, and sometimes the answers simply weren’t there to be had in the first place.

He wasn’t entirely sure which was the case now.

Emrys was a powerful sorcerer. He had helped Arthur, Gwen, and who knew how many others for years before Arthur had even become Camelot’s king. The Druids knew of him, had stories about him and the one he served, this Once and Future King, who for some disconcerting reason Merlin suspected was Arthur himself. The Druids had known that Emrys was in Camelot and had believed him to be at her very heart, in the castle itself. If he was, then he was in disguise, for Arthur had only ever met him as an old man.

Morgana knew who Emrys was, at least as much as Arthur himself did. She knew that Emrys had saved him before or she would not gloated that he could not do it again—which he must have, since Arthur still had breath in his body. Emrys, though powerful, stood on a different side than Morgana, and if Morgana had wrapped herself in dark magic, Emrys had protected them all from it to the best of his ability. His magic was used for good. For Arthur. For Camelot.

Gaius did not believe him to be a threat.

Arthur was beginning to wonder if he had any reason to doubt Gaius’s beliefs.

Emrys knew much about him, more than he ought to. Arthur had no way of knowing precisely how close Emrys was to him. He was not sure if Emrys’s knowledge came from magical or conventional means, nor whether he truly knew Arthur as well as he seemed to. But if Arthur’s miraculous luck over the years was not coincidence, then Emrys _must_ be close to him. With magic at Emrys’s disposal, however, Arthur had no way of unmasking the sorcerer.

Except.

Except magic. He’d only have a hope if he employed the use of more magic. More magic, in a kingdom which had already suffered too much at its hand. 

It was unthinkable.

But he’d turned to magic before when he’d been desperate. He suspected his father had done the same, more than once, even after his hatred of it had grown.

Still, he couldn’t consult another sorcerer. He had no idea who was loyal to Emrys; he had no idea who could help him. Even Gaius, with whom Arthur would trust his life, was, if Arthur’s suspicions were correct, protecting the sorcerer. From Arthur. From Camelot’s laws. For the _sake_ of Arthur and the rest of Camelot.

But if he couldn’t count on Gaius to help him expose Emrys, then he was on his own. Despite what he’d told Merlin last week—had it been a week already?—he wasn’t keen on the idea of bringing in another witchfinder. He knew Gaius had been framed before, that he hadn’t practiced sorcery since before the ban—except, perhaps, on Uther’s orders, but Arthur still wasn’t certain of that—and he didn’t want to run the risk of hiring someone else who simply accused innocents for their own gain. 

Arthur stared at the pendant Emrys had given him. He could admire the craftsmanship, even if he knew nothing about how difficult it would be to make. It _looked_ well made. Its design was intricate and complicated, and the stone remained tight in its setting. He could believe it to be a magical artefact, really. 

Especially when he remembered who had been its guardians before it had come into his possession.

But because he could believe it to be a magical artefact, he hadn’t touched it since taking it from Emrys and dropping it on his desk. Because it was magical. And magic…. Magic was magic.

_“It is the Stone of Æthelu. It will allow you to see the true intentions of those around you.”_

How was one supposed to see someone else’s ‘true intentions’? What did that even mean? Someone’s intent was their purpose. Their aim. Their goal. The Stone, then, didn’t separate truth from lies. It didn’t tell him the details. He wouldn’t even necessarily know the whole picture. He’d just know the meaning behind it all, or perhaps the last move, or….

But this was ridiculous. He shouldn’t be contemplating what using the pendant would do, let alone trying to discern how it would work or how well. He couldn’t use it in the first place. He just couldn’t. It was…. He was a Pendragon. Well, so was Morgana, but he was nothing like Morgana and would _never_ be like her. 

Would things have been different if something like this had fallen into his possession before Morgana had shown her true colours? If he’d known, if he’d seen that she was no longer Uther’s loving ward, grateful to be safely back in Camelot’s citadel, could he have prevented all the horrors that she’d managed to unleash? If he had seen the poison in her heart, could he have redirected the course of things and stopped them from becoming as bad as they had? Was the same true of Agravaine? If he’d found out earlier that his uncle had been the traitor he’d sought, even if he’d believed Merlin’s seemingly unfounded accusations, could he have stopped him? Would less blood have been shed? Would his people have been better off?

Were the Druids aware of something he was not? Had they given this gift to him specifically in the hope that he would use it and prevent a great tragedy of whose progress he was currently blissfully unaware?

Or was it all nothing more than a mind game, a seed of evil making sown and intended to take root and grow, seeing him turn on his own friends out of suspicion as it matured? 

With magic, one could never tell. Not until it was too late, anyway, if the plot was intended to be covert. Not in his experience.

But if he took a risk and used it and everything turned out horribly, he would know for certain that he could never trust the word of Emrys, despite what the Druids said about him. And if he used it and it worked, then he would, perhaps, get closer to the answers he needed. If he didn’t…. If he didn’t, he’d be no further ahead than he was now. 

No further behind, either, but unless things went spectacularly wrong, he’d make progress.

Besides, he didn’t need to announce his plan. No one who knew he’d been given a gift in the first place was _absolutely required_ to know his intentions. He should tell Gwen, yes. He trusted her completely. And he didn’t doubt the loyalty of Merlin, either, as far as that went. But Merlin was a blabbermouth at the best of times, and Gwen…. If there was any danger to be had, he did not want to put her in it. Nor did he wish to endanger anyone else, come to that; sometimes he had to take risks.

Using the Stone of Æthelu was one such risk. 

Arthur’s hand snaked out to snatch the pendant from the desk. Only partially against his better judgement, he put it on, tucking it beneath his tunic to hide it completely before he could talk himself out of what was, in all likelihood, a crazy manoeuvre. The Stone was fully hidden, not even a glimpse of chain to give him away. 

It would work.

Arthur pulled the pendant back off and held it for a moment, debating where to hide it. Gwen would not disturb his things, but she wasn’t the one he was worried about. What would Merlin not dig through tomorrow? 

Arthur frowned for a moment, but slowly, he began to smile. His ceremonial wear. Merlin would have no reason to pull out those robes. The pendant could remain there until he had a chance to put it on tomorrow. And then….

Well, then, if it worked, he might very well be able to determine who was trying to mislead him when he asked about Emrys, which would in turn narrow down the places he needed to search. And then perhaps he could get some real answers.


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur endured Merlin’s usual mindless morning drivel with the same patience he always did—that is to say, not much. But the banter was familiar, and he was grateful for that now because he knew he was soon to step into markedly unfamiliar territory. Of course, once Merlin had covered every topic _besides_ the pendant, he asked about it.

Arthur heaved a sigh. “What’s it matter to you?”

Merlin shrugged. “I’m curious, that’s all. Is that a crime now?”

“For you it ought to be,” Arthur muttered, though he knew Merlin’s curiosity had gotten them into as many scrapes as it had saved them from. It was that curiosity that led Merlin to discover all the things he shouldn’t, after all. Granted, Arthur did not always listen to what Merlin had supposedly discovered, but he would admit that there were times when Merlin was capable of making astute observations.

“Are you going to use it, though?”

Arthur shot him a disgusted look, hoping Merlin couldn’t see beneath it. “Why would I use it? It’s a magical artefact. What do you take me for, Merlin?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Arthur glared at him. “For your information, I’m going to have it stored in the vaults until I find out more about it. Satisfied?”

“Yes, actually,” Merlin said, offering him his sheathed sword. “Can you put that on yourself, you think?”

Arthur scowled and grabbed it, strapping it in place. “You’re useless, you know that?”

“That’s not what Gwen says.”

“Guinevere has a good heart. It allows her to overlook things like that.”

Merlin was still beaming at him like the fool he was. “Do you want me to run the pendant down the vaults for you?”

“I’ll take it myself,” Arthur replied, “when I’ve the time. It may have escaped your notice, Merlin, but that pendant is important and it could very well be dangerous. I’m not going to entrust you with the likes of that. You’d be liable to lose it.”

“You’re never going to trust me with stuff, are you?”

“I trust you,” Arthur said. “We wouldn’t even be having this conversation if I didn’t trust you. I just happen to be well aware that you’re a clumsy oaf and that you’re as likely to trip down the stairs to the vaults and break your neck as you are to misplace the pendant in the first place.” Merlin looked mildly offended, so Arthur added, “Go help Gaius this morning. I’ve no doubt he has more use for you than I.”

It was better than the usual list of chores, and Merlin knew it. He smirked. “If Gwen’s scolding you about overworking me, you could just give me the day off.”

“I don’t want to know,” Arthur said with deliberate clarity, “how much trouble you would get into if I suddenly decided to give you the rest of the day off.” Then, because Gwen _had_ been talking to him, he added, “But if you’d like time to visit your mother, I can see to it. You could be free to go by the week’s end.”

Merlin’s face lit up. “Really?”

“I’m not a slave driver, Merlin, and I certainly don’t need to have you by my side at all hours. You haven’t been home for a long time now. I’m sure your mother misses you. I can spare you for a day’s visit and the time it would take to travel there and back.”

“That’s….” Merlin couldn’t keep from beaming. “That’s got to be among the nicest things you’ve ever done for me. You’re sure you’re Arthur? Wholly you? Not, I dunno…enchanted?”

Arthur swatted him upside the head, but Merlin’s smirk stayed firmly in place. “I can also arrange for you to spend that time in considerably less pleasant places.”

“Oh, yes, definitely Arthur,” Merlin muttered, though the corners of his mouth were still upturned. Another glare managed to send him scuttling from the room, taking the remains of Arthur’s breakfast with him, and Arthur was finally left in peace.

Putting the pendant on yesterday had not had any immediately ill effect, but Arthur was still wary as he donned it today. But, as before, nothing adverse happened, and he didn’t _feel_ enchanted. Of course, neither had his father when he’d been bewitched by that troll, despite the evidence that had been right under his very nose. Still, Arthur could not discern any particular changes in his beliefs or his instinctive behaviour.

Really, for all he could tell, this pendant _wasn’t_ enchanted, and everything said about it was as reliable as any of Gwaine’s stories.

It might even be _less_ reliable, which would really be saying something.

But there was no way to find that out for sure unless he kept it on to see if he could…learn anything. However that was supposed to work. He still hadn’t figured that out yet, but it was magic, so he didn’t expect it to make sense. And that’s perhaps what really worried him, but he’d made his decision, lack of understanding or not, and he wasn’t one to back down.

Merlin figured that made him pigheaded; he preferred to describe that particular quality as a product of his fierce determination.

It was a while before Arthur noticed anything different. To be fair, it was a while before anyone was in his presence for longer than a moment. Guards stood their posts or kept on patrol, servants melted into the shadows, keeping their heads down out of respect despite Gwen’s influence…. Merlin was really the only one with a tendency to trail after him—or, frequently, walk beside him, an honour he shouldn’t technically be granted but something Arthur chose to overlook anyway—and he’d been sent off already. And since Arthur wasn’t in conversation with anyone, he never noticed anything out of the ordinary until he was overseeing the knights’ training.

Then…. Then, he noticed it.

It…. It was a feeling, more than anything else, yet it wasn’t as tangible as a feeling. It was more fleeting, held more uncertainty, but was still utterly, undeniably…true. It was like a…sense. Instinct. Understanding.

It came in waves, some easier to interpret than others. But if he got nothing else from it, the experience reinforced what Arthur already knew: that his knights were loyal to him and to Camelot.

“You’ll be going soft if you sit out too many more practices,” Gwaine told him cheerfully, hanging back with him as everyone else went ahead. 

Since Gwaine knew well his reasons for missing practices or merely choosing to observe, Arthur did not repeat them. Instead, he said, “My skills remain sharper than yours.”

Gwaine snorted. “I’ve saved you from getting yourself killed more often than you’ve done for me.” 

They both knew Arthur would gladly lay down his life for any of his citizens, and they both knew Gwaine was expected to—and would, if it came to it—die protecting Arthur. But that wasn’t the point. Gwaine had noticed that he was distracted. All the knights had, but Gwaine was the one elected to comment upon it. He wasn’t afraid of putting Arthur in his place, of calling him out, any more than Merlin was. Both Gwaine and Merlin also had a tendency to do so much more rashly and with considerably less tact than anyone else would, like Gaius or Guinevere or even any of the other knights.

And yet, Gwaine had a sort of determination, an inner strength, that radiated out in everything he did. Something that was more defined in him than in anyone else. And it was something that Arthur truly admired, though he’d never admit it lest it go to Gwaine’s already-swollen head.

“Yes, all right,” Arthur agreed, “but it was more for Merlin than it ever was for me, at least in the beginning.”

“Course it was,” Gwaine admitted readily, his grin wide. “You don’t think I would’ve bothered to break my back to save a prat like you if it weren’t for friendship?”

“Your loyalty is touching,” Arthur said dryly.

“Well, I needed some reason to stick around.” Gwaine clapped him on the back. “But don’t worry; I’ve found more reasons since I’ve come. You won’t be getting rid of me very easily.” There was a pause. “You in an especially sour mood this morning for any particular reason?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’m not in a mood.”

“My mistake.” The grin was still on Gwaine’s face, though on second glance, it looked more like a smirk. “I just thought you were a bit surlier than usual. Does Gaius have need of Merlin this morning? Is that why you’re not taking it out on him?”

“I don’t _take it out_ on _Mer_ lin—” Arthur protested, but he stopped when he saw the look on Gwaine’s face. 

Now wasn’t the time to deny the truth.

“Gaius needed him more than I did today,” Arthur said instead.

Gwaine nodded. “Ah. So you likely haven’t had enough teasing from him this morning. Cheer up, princess. I’ll be happy to fill in.”

Arthur scowled at the nickname. “I’d rather you search for Emrys again. Spend the day in the tavern if you must, so long as you get me information. I’m tired of endless reports of tight lips.”

Gwaine’s eyebrows rose. “Does this mean you’ll be picking up the tab, then?”

Hadn’t they had this discussion already? Of course, Gwaine would never let an opportunity like this pass him by…. “You have your own money. Use it. Try giving me the tab, and I’ll have Merlin pay it off.”

Gwaine considered this for a moment. “You know, that really wouldn’t take him too long if you two started gambling again—”

“Don’t remind me,” Arthur cut in testily.

“I’ll make sure Merlin checks in with you first thing once he’s done whatever he’s doing for Gaius,” Gwaine decided. “Then you at least won’t be scowling at everyone else.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and stalked off, Gwaine’s laughter ringing out behind him.

Gwaine meant well. Arthur could tell that without the aid of some magic pendant. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t annoying or self-serving or any other of his _wonderful_ traits that he brought to the Knights of the Round Table.

Worst of all, Gwaine’s words had proven true. If Arthur hadn’t been in a mood before, Gwaine had managed to put him there.

A council meeting next. More torture. But he couldn’t put his own personal interests in finding this Emrys again above the needs of his people, and he wouldn’t, even if he had the choice. His people, his kingdom, came first. And while he told himself—and others—that finding Emrys _was_ in the best interests of Camelot, he knew he had a vested interest as well. He’d let it drive him further than he should have. It was, ultimately, the reason he’d put on this blasted pendant.

He just needed to get through this one day. If it didn’t turn up any answers, he’d try a new strategy. He wasn’t sure what, but he’d come up with something.

He always got through these things.

He just didn’t know, anymore, whether that was with or without the help of a sorcerer named Emrys.

-|-

If Merlin didn’t know that the leech tank really, _really_ needed cleaning, he would’ve guessed that Gaius had set the task for him solely because it was one of the least pleasant jobs to be done—and because he hadn’t done it a couple days ago, despite Gaius’s joking suggestion. But aside from necessity, it gave him time to think, and he suspected that that was just as much the reason Gaius had set him to it. If he were running about delivering potions or anything of that sort, he could be waylaid by someone else.

Of course, he wouldn’t particularly _mind_ running a bunch of errands instead of cleaning the leech tank, but it at least meant Gaius’s motives weren’t entirely self-serving.

Granted, that knowledge made the task no better.

But eventually Merlin had the tank clean and himself clean and leech-free, and he took the time to rest for a few moments. Arthur had been acting strange this morning. Not enchanted-strange, as much as Merlin had joked about it, but…distracted-strange. 

That worried Merlin.

It usually meant Arthur was up to something, and Merlin liked knowing what.

He was fairly sure Arthur didn’t suspect him of being Emrys—aside from Arthur laughing it off, Merlin was quite certain Arthur wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye once he realized the truth—but that didn’t mean Arthur wasn’t trying to come up with some way to discover who Emrys really was. He hadn’t been very successful of late, in part because of Merlin and in part because there wasn’t much to find, but there was always a chance he would stumble across something Merlin wasn’t aware of and use it to his advantage.

And if Arthur hadn’t told him, then he might not have told anyone. Gwen, perhaps, but that was a stretch in itself. Arthur might not suspect Gwen of betraying anything he said in confidence, but he _would_ find reason to worry about her. Arthur was still in the process of deciding if Emrys was going to turn on him or not, and Merlin rather thought Arthur believed Emrys would stop at nothing to stay hidden.

That wasn’t quite true, of course. While Merlin would sacrifice a lot to spare his secret, he wouldn’t sacrifice someone’s life. Not unless that someone had already proven himself to be an enemy. But by that point, it was usually less to protect his secret and more to protect Arthur and Camelot herself, which were far more important than the fact that he had magic.

Still, ideally, he _would_ keep his secret. As he’d told Coran’s mother, he wasn’t sure if Arthur was ready yet to face what lay ahead. He wasn’t sure if Arthur could lay to rest all his father’s teachings, if the time was right for him to try to _do_ that with Morgana undoubtedly plotting…something big, judging by her conspicuous absence. 

And he wasn’t sure if _he_ was ready to throw caution into the wind and tell Arthur everything.

One part of him _really, really_ wanted to do that. He hated keeping secrets from his best friend. But the other part, the part which remained keenly aware of Camelot’s unchanged laws and all the evils Arthur had seen with magic at its root…. The other part quailed. 

As well as Merlin knew Arthur, he could not guess Arthur’s reaction. Not beyond his initial reaction, anyway. He wasn’t sure if Arthur would come around in time, as Gaius believed. He wasn’t sure that Arthur wouldn’t just banish him.

But if he were banished, he might as well be put to death, for he could not help Arthur if he was far away from him. He could not fulfill his destiny.

His life might not be important, but Arthur’s was, and Merlin was _not_ going to let the prat go and get himself killed the minute he stopped Merlin from protecting him. That would…. It couldn’t happen. Merlin would not _let_ that happen. Arthur…. There were still some things that needed to come to pass under Arthur’s reign, and Merlin needed to make sure Arthur was kept safe so that could happen.

It would be an infinitely easier task if Arthur would stop poking around so that Merlin could continue to protect him without fear of being discovered.

If the Druids hadn’t said anything to Gwaine about a gift, or if Gwaine hadn’t remembered to report that little tidbit, then Merlin wouldn’t have had to show up as the old man in the first place and admit that he _was_ Emrys. With Arthur convinced that Emrys was hiding out in Camelot, disguised as something other than the old sorcerer whose face was, as Arthur had said, known throughout the castle, well…. 

It certainly didn’t make things any simpler.

But at least Arthur’s dilemma of what to do with the Stone of Æthelu had worked in Merlin’s favour. It didn’t bode well that Arthur was so distrustful of anything associated with magic, but at least it meant he wouldn’t be using it. Gaius hadn’t been able to tell him precisely how it worked, and Merlin didn’t want to think of what Arthur could discover if he _did_ use it. The Stone was safer in the vaults than anywhere else for now.

A horrible thought occurred to Merlin, stemming from Arthur’s refusal of his offer to take the pendant to the vaults in the first place. “He wouldn’t,” Merlin said aloud, trying to reassure himself. 

But that wasn’t true.

It was Arthur.

He would.

He was Courage. He’d take risks and keep going despite his misgivings, doubts, fears, and everything else, if he thought doing so would somehow benefit his kingdom and his people. He was pigheaded enough to do just about anything. He would do things Uther would never have dared to, even before Ygraine’s death.

Merlin cursed under his breath and scrambled to his feet. He _really_ wished Gaius’s books had been able to tell him more about the pendant. He didn’t like to think that this one thing could unmask him after so long.

Especially since he had handed it to Arthur himself.

“Stupid, stupid….” Merlin muttered, hoping it wouldn’t take him too long to confirm his suspicions. All he had to do was find out if Arthur had gone to the vaults. If he hadn’t, there was a slim chance that he still intended to, but Merlin didn’t like the odds. “I really hope I’m wrong.”

He just had a terribly certain feeling that was telling him he wasn’t, not in the slightest.

-|-

As the day wore on, Arthur got a better idea of how this Stone of Æthelu worked.

He didn’t entirely understand it, of course. He had never really expected to. But he’d learned a few things about it, and he’d started to develop a knack for interpreting the…waves, for lack of a better word, he got from others. 

Intentions weren’t clear. He’d known that much going into this, and he took care not to put too much, if any, stock in what he’d found out. But others’ intentions were tied to their emotions, and it was these feelings, as much as anything else, that the Stone allowed Arthur to become privy to. The stronger the emotion tied to the intention, the stronger the wave.

The only intentions he could pick up on were those somehow related to him. He had no idea, for instance, if the serving boy who’d given him his lunch had looked hungrily at it himself and was planning on going to the kitchens again immediately to get something to eat for himself. Arthur only knew that the boy was trying his best to please him and that he was slightly awed that he’d been selected to deliver the king’s lunch above others in his same station. Arthur had become aware of this last emotion afterwards, and he could only guess that it was because it was tied to the boy’s intention to serve him well in the first place. It was one of the stronger things that drove the boy to do his best.

Most of the time, the waves weren’t as clear as that. While he could only read those with whom he interacted, the scope was not always narrow enough for the influx of waves to be clear. With the knights, the intentions had all been the same, any minor differences lost in the overwhelming feeling of _loyalty_. With the council, there had been more conflict, more confusion. Arthur still couldn’t hope to determine which feeling came from which member, but neither had he been able to pick out precisely what the waves meant. They’d been rolling in too fast for him to interpret while still interacting with the councilmen.

But of all the people he’d met, of all the feelings he’d read, not one had betrayed ill intentions against him.

If he could trust what the pendant told him, it would be a comfort. A reassurance of what he already knew. But it was little help. He was still no closer to identifying Emrys now than he had been before. Whenever he’d asked about Emrys, he’d been answered with honest bafflement. The man, whoever he was, had managed to keep hidden, and no one knew who or where he was.

Of course, for all he knew, Emrys was quite aware of how the pendant worked and was keeping well away until Arthur took it off. Sorcerers had ways of divining things from a distance, he was sure. While that could explain Emrys’s knowledge of Camelot and how he conducted himself, he was still convinced that the sorcerer was here. Even a powerful sorcerer could not do everything from a distance.

Arthur hadn’t exactly expected to stumble upon the sorcerer himself, but he’d thought _someone_ might know something.

Granted, he hadn’t yet questioned Gaius.

Then again, he wasn’t sure there was any need to. Arthur already knew Gaius’s intentions and the reasons behind them. He believed he was protecting both Camelot and Arthur by protecting Emrys, thereby allowing the sorcerer to continue practicing magic in secret. The pendant Arthur wore would not compel Gaius to spill his secrets, and even if it could, Arthur would be hesitant to use it. He trusted Gaius, and he knew Gaius trusted him. As much as he wanted to find Emrys, he wasn’t sure he desired that enough to betray Gaius’s trust. He didn’t want to think he’d even consider doing so.

But the mere thought of a sorcerer in Camelot….

The door to Arthur’s chambers flew open, and Merlin stumbled in, only barely managing to stop himself from tripping over his own feet and ending up face first in Arthur’s supper. 

At least, he assumed it was meant to be his supper, even though he hadn’t specified that he would be taking it here, alone, rather than with Guinevere. 

Arthur looked up at Merlin and raised an eyebrow.

Merlin plastered a smile on his face and put the plate down in front of him. “Hope you’re hungry,” he said cheerfully.

Arthur rolled his eyes and moved the food aside. “Not at the moment,” he said simply. He had too many things on his mind right now, and he almost would have preferred that Gaius had still needed the use of his manservant.

Almost.

Except that Merlin’s eyes were sweeping around the room, and anyone with any sense could have guessed what he was looking for.

“I took it to the vaults,” Arthur said bluntly.

Some expression flickered across Merlin’s face before he’d turned his goofy grin on Arthur again, but Arthur was more interested in what he felt rolling off Merlin in waves.

Concern.

Arthur wouldn’t have thought that that was an emotion that could adequately relay someone’s intentions, but he felt it so strongly that he couldn’t deny it. 

“Really?” Merlin asked. “When? I never noticed.”

“You weren’t _around_ to notice,” Arthur pointed out.

Merlin shrugged. “I wasn’t so busy that I couldn’t find out your schedule. It’s not like you change it much, and I didn’t spend all day cooped up in the same room. Besides, Gwaine told me you missed me.”

Ordinarily, Arthur would have dismissed Merlin’s words. He was a servant. More specifically, he was Arthur’s manservant. It was expected of him to know Arthur’s movements, and he’d clearly anticipated (albeit wrongly) that Arthur would like his supper. 

But now….

Now, Merlin’s words merely served to remind Arthur of all the _other_ things Merlin had said to him over the years. All the other things Merlin had done for him over the years. Those rare moments where he’d shown something akin to wisdom or bravery or some other quality Arthur admired.

Merlin truly did mean to protect him.

He could feel it now, more clearly than ever. It didn’t stem from Merlin’s concern. Quite the contrary, in fact. His concern stemmed from his desire to protect Arthur.

It was something that went beyond friendship, beyond loyalty. It was _strong_. Stronger than anything he’d felt from the knights this morning while they’d trained to be able to do that very thing, to protect him and to protect Camelot and all its citizens. The Stone made that clear, putting the things Merlin had done in the past into greater focus. It wasn’t only the obvious things, like his willingness to die in Arthur’s place by drinking from a poisoned chalice or facing the chilling Dorocha. It was all those quips Merlin would make, all those jokes about saving his royal backside as if it were something he did far more regularly than Arthur could ever realize. 

Merlin must believe every word he’d ever said to Arthur in those rare moments of serious wisdom. _“It is your fate to be the greatest king Camelot has ever known.”_ And Merlin— _Merlin_ , whom he usually mistook for nothing more than a clumsy, blundering fool—was doing everything in his power to help him _be_ that king.

Everything.

And Arthur had never seen it.

Not truly.

Not until now.

Not until he had the Stone of Æthelu burning against his breast, reacting more strongly to Merlin’s presence than to anyone else’s.

He really was blind to have not seen any of this before. To have not _realized_ it. He’d always thought Merlin a right fool, but now it turned out that it had been him all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who takes the time to say something about this story. I always appreciate it.


	10. Chapter 10

Arthur was gaping at him in a very un-Arthur-like way, and Merlin’s quips died on his tongue.

Chances were, if he hadn’t already, Arthur could see through any front Merlin put up.

But it probably wasn’t in his best interests to let Arthur know he knew that.

“What, have you forgotten what you’ve done today already?” Merlin asked. “I knew you had a thick skull, Arthur, but I thought your head could hold a little more than that.”

There was silence for a moment. Then, finally, “Tell me something, Merlin.”

Merlin swallowed but fought his instinct to bolt, instead clasping his hands and waiting, trying—and likely failing—to be the picture of innocence.

“Why do you do what you do?”

Merlin blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Why do you do what you do?” Arthur repeated, waving one hand in a quick succession of circles as if that would make things any clearer.

“I’m not following,” Merlin admitted. Truthfully, he had a suspicion of what Arthur meant, but he wasn’t going to admit it unless he had to.

Arthur gave him a look of annoyance and said, with painful slowness, “Tell me, why do you do everything you do?”

Trying not to be too obvious that he was playing dumb and deliberately intending to keep something from the king, Merlin replied, “I’m your servant. I really can’t imagine how you’ve forgotten, but I do what I do because you _tell_ me to do it.”

If they’d been standing beside each other, Arthur would have whacked him upside the head for that. Instead, he just rolled his eyes. “I’m not an idiot, Merlin, and I’m beginning to suspect you aren’t as much of one as you sorely try to be. So answer the question.”

“I did,” Merlin pointed out.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “You know what I’m asking.”

Yes, well, he didn’t want to answer _that_ question. Even though he suspected it was pointless, Merlin put on a confused face. “Do I? I’m not sure about that now, because I really thought I had answered your question.”

“Merlin.” His name was said without the exaggerated stress Arthur tended to put on its first syllable. Instead, it was flat. Tight.

Dangerous.

Well. He’d known this was a risk, coming in here when he suspected Arthur was wearing the Stone, but he hadn’t thought Arthur would be able to piece it together so easily. It’s not as if Merlin intended for him to know the truth right now. 

At least Arthur wasn’t reacting as badly as Merlin had imagined.

Yet.

“Why ask questions you already know the answers to?” Merlin asked quietly.

Arthur stood up then, leaning over his desk to look Merlin in the eye. His voice, when he spoke, was low. “Don’t play games with me. Just tell me why, Merlin.”

 _Because it’s my destiny._ But that wasn’t quite true anymore. Well, it was no less true, but it wasn’t the only reason that drove him now. _Because you’re my friend. Because I don’t want to see you killed when I can stop it. Because I want the best for you, for Gwen, for Gaius, for everyone. Because you’re destined to be a great king. Because you_ are _a great king, and no one can deny it._

“Because I believe in you,” Merlin said at length.

Arthur straightened up abruptly. “That can’t be it.”

Well, it wasn’t, not by itself. But it was still the truth.

So Merlin said nothing.

“Merlin, you….” Arthur trailed off. “You’re willing to give your life for me.”

That shouldn’t be a new revelation on Arthur’s part. “You’re the king,” Merlin said simply. “I am only a serving boy.”

“You’re not—” Arthur stopped and shook his head. “ _Mer_ lin,” he said again, in his usual, familiar way, “most servants, while _expected_ to do that, would not do so as…willingly as you.”

“You’re a great king, and your people respect you,” Merlin replied evenly. “Don’t underestimate their loyalty to you.” _Don’t underestimate mine._

“But…but you….”

It was almost funny to see Arthur speechless and struggling for words when they could usually match each other until he inevitably got the better of Arthur and Arthur threw something at him.

Knowing the reason for Arthur’s struggle, though, meant Merlin got no pleasure from it. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to string a sentence together without tripping over his own tongue himself. Not once the accusation came. 

“You hated me when you first got here,” Arthur said. “I put you in the stocks. And yet you still saved my life!”

That had been the first of many times, most of which Arthur would undoubtedly remain unaware. But Merlin just shrugged. “I didn’t hate you so much as think you were an absolute prat. Supercilious. Arrogant, conceited, thick-headed—”

“ _Mer_ lin!”

Merlin flashed Arthur a quick smile. “You haven’t changed much. You’re still a prat. And a dollophead. A complete clotpole, really.”

Teasing Arthur might not be the smartest thing to do, since for all Merlin knew, it would just encourage Arthur to sentence him to death, but it was familiar.

He needed familiarity right now.

“Why help me then?” Arthur demanded. “You certainly didn’t believe in me then!”

“You were hardly someone to believe in,” Merlin pointed out, “but that’s no reason for me to hesitate when someone’s aiming a dagger at your heart. You were an idiot, but that didn’t mean you deserved to die.”

Besides, by then, Kilgharrah had already told him that Arthur was the Once and Future King, the one who would unite the land of Albion, and that he had been born with magic in order to help Arthur succeed. That it was his destiny to ensure Arthur realized his, for without his help, there would be no Albion. As much as Merlin hadn’t want to believe it—Arthur really was an idiot back then, far worse than he was now—he hadn’t dared do nothing and gamble on Kilgharrah having the wrong Arthur. The Great Dragon hadn’t struck him as liable to get anything wrong, even then.

“Besides,” Merlin added, “you’re someone to believe in now, and that’s what really matters.”

Arthur’s next words were long in coming, but come they did. “You’ve believed in me even when I haven’t believed in myself.”

“Perhaps I could see something you couldn’t,” Merlin answered. 

Silence. Then, “Did Coran tell you he believed me to be the Once and Future King?”

Despite himself, Merlin broke into a wide smile. Arthur didn’t know. He was guessing. He wouldn’t have asked that otherwise, and he’d asked it in such a way that gave Merlin the perfect excuse for knowing the term. Arthur must have forgotten his earlier use of it. “Well, we were together for quite a while before you showed up. He might have mentioned it. His mother wasn’t really up for speaking by that time.”

Arthur blinked in surprise. “She was alive when you reached her?”

Confused that Arthur would catch on that and hoping he wasn’t condemning himself somehow with his next words, Merlin nodded. “Just barely. She didn’t last long. I was surprised she’d made it through the night.”

“She didn’t…have anything with her, did she?”

Oh. That’s what he was getting at. Merlin shook his head. “No. Why?”

Arthur took a step back. “Merlin,” he said slowly, “was anyone else there with you, in the woods, before Gwaine and I came?”

And that was when Merlin realized the Stone of Æthelu probably _was_ perceptive enough to pick up on when he was intending to deceive the king.

Well.

Gaius _had_ said Æthelu had been a truth seeker in his own time. At least that bit finally made sense.

Unfortunately.

“Not that I saw,” Merlin answered, choosing his words carefully now, “but there could have been someone. We weren’t attacked, at any rate.”

“And you never saw the pendant the Druids gifted me? Emrys claims he got it from Coran’s mother.”

“The first time I saw the Stone of Æthelu,” Merlin said with perfect truth, “was right here in the castle.”

Arthur stared at him, hard, and Merlin met his gaze as calmly as he could.

And then Arthur asked the question Merlin had _really_ been hoping he wouldn’t ask: “Do you know who Emrys is?”

-|-

Arthur knew Merlin was cleverer than he tended to give him credit for. He knew he was loyal and brave and a bit of an idiot. His strong desire to protect his king shouldn’t have come as as much of a surprise as it had, given how often Merlin had insisted on joining him when he was going into battle. He’d come when Arthur had gone to slay the dragon, knowing it meant almost certain death. He hadn’t even asked for the little protection armour might have afforded him. He’d just insisted on coming, citing some such nonsense of being fond of the armour Arthur had him polish so often and not wanting to see it messed up.

Arthur wasn’t so foolish that he wasn’t able to read between the lines, but he hadn’t realized, even with such blatant clues as that, how much Merlin truly did for him.

Merlin, not Emrys, could well be the person Gaius had been referring to. The one who helped Arthur without his properly knowing it. Gaius, no doubt, was well aware of all the idiotic risks Merlin took, of all the times he had put his life before Arthur’s.

Knowing that Merlin did mean well, that he had Arthur’s interests at heart, made it simpler to explain some of Merlin’s more questionable actions of the past. But it did not prepare Arthur for the feeling of deceit that had snaked its way to the forefront of the waves he felt from Merlin, and he wasn’t entirely sure, yet, whether Merlin had out and out lied to him throughout his entire search for Emrys.

It did lend more credence to the possibility that Merlin knew as much about Emrys as Gaius did, however, and had been withholding that information the entire time.

But now that he knew what to look for, now that he’d figured out how the Druids’ gift to him worked, Arthur intended to find out.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted a manservant who lied to him, even if Merlin meant well. There were some things Arthur shouldn’t be protected against, lest he blindly make decisions that would turn out all the more ill for it. And this business about Emrys…. He needed to know more, not be protected from that knowledge and all the effects knowing might have.

So he asked if Merlin knew Emrys’s identity. A simple question. One Merlin could not answer, Arthur now realized, without telling him the truth.

It was a beat, no longer, before Merlin answered. “Of course I do,” came the blunt reply. “He’s a sorcerer. And, according the Druids, a powerful one. I’ve heard that from more than one source, you included, so I don’t know why you’re bothering to ask me again.”

It was true. Well, he knew it was true, since he had told that to Merlin and he had no doubt Gaius had said the same, but Merlin wasn’t trying to lie to him, at any rate.

He was, however, trying to mislead him.

Arthur would say he didn’t know why, except that he did. Merlin really must know who Emrys is. That was the only reason he’d dodge the question like that.

No wonder the old man had been able to get past him all the time. Merlin must have never made any move to stop him!

“I don’t mean knowing of him,” Arthur said quietly. “I meant knowing who he is. His identity. You know who he is.”

Merlin shrugged. “If you say so.”

Arthur took a slow breath. “Merlin, please.” He was trying to keep calm. It was Merlin. Merlin meant to protect him. He thought he was doing the right thing. 

He had just supremely enjoyed watching Arthur twist himself in knots looking for someone he’d never find, never offering a word of guidance.

“Please what?”

It must all be an act. Arthur nearly couldn’t believe it. Merlin was still acting, had always _been_ acting, and he’d never seen it. Not once. That time in the forest, with Gwaine, had been the first time he’d really realized the person Merlin truly was.

He _was_ wise and clever and brave. He was the Merlin who only emerged in trying times, the one who was too serious and too old and too confident to be bumbling, laughing, disrespectful, idiotic _Merlin_. That Merlin, however familiar and real he felt, was nothing more than a mask. The true Merlin merely hid behind that façade of a complete fool, playing his part so well that no one ever realized he wasn’t being himself. Not really.

He’d….

Unorthodox though it was, he’d considered Merlin to be his friend.

Now he was realizing that, for all the years they’d been together, he hardly knew him.

“Just….” Arthur closed his eyes. “Tell me the truth, Merlin.” When Merlin said nothing, Arthur opened his eyes to look at him and prompted him, saying, “Have you been helping Emrys all this time?”

There was a pause. “Not really.”

The Stone was giving him no indication that Merlin’s words weren’t just something Arthur wanted to hear, and Arthur found he could breathe easier. Collaborating with a sorcerer…. He’d promised leniency to those who had been harbouring Emrys, yes, but this…. 

This was Merlin.

This struck far closer to home than Arthur had thought it would.

Merlin.

Protecting a sorcerer.

 _Merlin_.

But it wasn’t the first time he’d done so, Arthur realized. Merlin had protected Will as well. He’d been meaning to tell Arthur, been interrupted, and thought better of it. He hadn’t admitted to his knowledge until it came out that Will was a sorcerer, that he had used magic to save the village of Ealdor.

“But you’re protecting him,” Arthur said, though he didn’t need Merlin’s agreement to know it was true. “You don’t want to tell me who he is because you, like Gaius, think he can—and perhaps already has—saved Camelot. Saved me.”

“He has, Arthur. I know it.”

From the way Merlin was looking at him, from the way he suddenly looked less like the Merlin Arthur always saw and more like the one who turned up when he wasn’t sure he was up to whatever task faced him, Arthur suspected Merlin had no doubts as to where the Stone of Æthelu was at this very moment.

It was…rather unnerving.

Especially considering the quiet confidence with which Merlin had delivered those last words.

“And how long have you known?” Arthur asked. “How long have you known who he was, what he’s doing? How long has he been doing this?”

“A long time now,” Merlin answered softly. “Since before you became king.”

But quite possibly after Merlin had come to Camelot. Arthur could deduce that much; for one, he hadn’t been much of a target for anyone until the year before he’d come of age, the same year Merlin had arrived, and for another, he doubted Merlin would have heard much of anything back in Ealdor. “And it was Emrys who implied that I was this…Once and Future King, isn’t it?”

Merlin shook his head. “No. That was someone else.”

Arthur frowned. “Who? Gaius? Coran?”

Merlin’s lips twitched into a smile. “No. It was the same someone who told me it was Emrys’s destiny to serve you. But you really needn’t worry, Arthur. He’s doing his best, and he means you no harm.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Who, Merlin?”

Merlin smirked, and all of a sudden, the familiar, insolent Merlin was back. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he retorted lightly, as if this weren’t a serious conversation at all.

As if this didn’t matter.

That made it more frustrating, really, especially since Arthur knew Merlin knew precisely what Arthur was doing and that this _was_ as serious a conversation as it sounded. Or ought to sound, if Merlin would just answer properly. 

“Try me,” Arthur ground out.

Merlin considered this for a moment. Then, “No, don’t think I will. It doesn’t matter, after all. It’s not like you can talk to him, if that is what you’re thinking. He’s not here. He’d have to have an awfully good reason to come back to Camelot and, believe me, you wouldn’t be able to give him a good enough reason.”

Arthur decided he’d rather be dealing with serious, wise-Merlin than light-hearted, cheeky-Merlin at the moment, but he somehow doubted grabbing him and shaking him would knock some sense into him. 

If he was honest with himself, though, he didn’t much care where Merlin had gotten his information from. Not right now, anyway. He was much more interested in Emrys and what Merlin knew about him. He was much more interested in finding out who Emrys really was.

“Is Emrys _really_ that old sorcerer?” Arthur asked.

Merlin snorted. “Didn’t he say he was?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Then yes. He is.” A pause. “If you’re not going to eat, I could take your food back to the kitchens.”

Arthur ignored that, although it was easier to ignore Merlin’s words than the intended distraction that lay beneath them. “But it’s just a disguise, right? He doesn’t normally look like that.”

A shrug. “That old man is the person I think of when I think of Emrys. Honestly, Arthur, if you’re not going to eat—”

“Merlin, why are you trying to protect him?”

Merlin stopped his babbling and straightened a bit. “You already know. Because Emrys will protect you, Arthur, if you let him be, and he’ll protect Camelot, and he’ll do his best to do everything that the Druids say he will—and see that you do, too, as the Once and Future King.”

“But what does that even _mean_?”

Silence.

Finally, “I’m not entirely sure. What it sounds like, I suppose.”

Well, that distinct unhelpfulness at least served to remind him that Merlin was still Merlin and not, well, something else or someone else or anything of that sort. Not enchanted, like he’d teasingly accused Arthur this morning. “Take me to Emrys.”

“What?” Merlin blinked. “No!”

“Can you?”

Silence again, although this time it told Arthur everything he needed to know.

“Do you know where he’s hiding, Merlin?”

Merlin pulled a distinctly unhappy face. “Arthur—”

“Is he in Camelot at this very moment? Perhaps even in the castle?”

“Arthur, if you need him, he’ll come to you. It doesn’t need to be the other way around.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Merlin, for the last time, he’s a sorcerer. In Camelot. I’ve no mind to execute him on the spot, but he can’t stay.”

“And that’s why I can’t take you to him!” Merlin burst out. “He _has_ to stay. For Camelot. For you! He can’t protect you unless he’s here, Arthur. And you _need_ that protection.”

“Sorcery is against the law!”

“Well, perhaps if it weren’t, you wouldn’t have so many sorcerers trying to kill you!”

Arthur blinked, taken aback. Merlin had never been directly unsupportive of Camelot’s bans on magic before. He’d even admitted just last week that he was against magic—well, most magic, but Arthur had thought he knew the reason for the qualifier. He had assumed that Merlin had merely protected Will because Will had been a friend, that he could never imagine Will doing anything untoward with his magic. He’d assumed Merlin had thought the same of this Emrys, which only served to prove to Arthur that Merlin knew quite well who he was. 

But to say he’d made enemies of sorcerers simply by upholding the laws his father had put in place to protect Camelot?

Arthur could see the reasoning behind it, yes. There had to be plenty of sorcerers bitter after the Great Purge. But, unlike his father, he had not sought to make enemies of them himself; he’d simply kept the laws in place, forcing them to stay outside of Camelot’s lands rather than drive them from their homes in the first place. And, at least where Emrys was concerned, he’d done little to enforce the ban, except that first time. But every opportunity he’d had since….

“I’ll return with your supper at a later time,” Merlin said, picking up his plate.

Arthur reached out to stop him. “Merlin, explain yourself.”

“There’s nothing to explain.”

Oh, for the…. “There’s _everything_ to explain!”

“Arthur,” Merlin said, his tone telling Arthur that Merlin planned to contradict him _again_ , “I don’t know if you’re ready for the truth, or at least as much as I know of it, and perhaps Emrys isn’t either. Perhaps that’s why he hasn’t explained himself to you. Have you considered that?”

Arthur huffed and yanked the plate of food out of Merlin’s hand, putting it back down on the desk. “Tell me what you know of the truth then, Merlin, and we’ll see how well I take it.”

“Haven’t you considered the fact that because Emrys didn’t explain all this to you when he did talk to you, it might not be the right time for you to know?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Merlin, talking yourself in circles isn’t going to help, and for your information, Emrys didn’t explain anything to me except for the Stone of Æthelu.” Arthur stopped, then said, “Did you have anything to do with that?”

“With what?”

“The fact that Emrys finally came to me after I’d been searching for him for a week with no luck?”

Merlin hesitated. “I might have played a part in it.”

“So you do know who he is?”

“Haven’t we been through that?”

“But if you’ve talked to him, then he’s here!”

“Well, he was, at that time.”

“So he isn’t now?”

“What do you think?”

Arthur threw up his hands. “I don’t know what to think, and you’re not helping. That’s the problem!”

“So don’t think about it. Pretend Coran never came here. Pretend you never realized who Emrys was and what he does for you.”

Arthur shot Merlin a scathing look. “I _can’t_. I’m the king, Merlin. I can’t turn a blind eye to something just because it unsettles me. How do you expect me to rule fairly if I cannot understand what goes on in my kingdom? How do you expect me to protect my people if I cannot anticipate the actions of others? I need to know what’s going on. I need to know whatever it is you think should be kept from me!”

Merlin sighed. “Arthur—”

“Don’t just say it’s for my own good,” Arthur interrupted as he felt Merlin’s desire to protect him swell. “Being ignorant of what’s going on under my nose is _never_ good. So stop trying to protect me!”

Merlin flinched. 

“Tell Emrys,” Arthur said clearly, in a tone that allowed for no arguments, “that I’d like to speak with him again. Now, preferably, but as soon as is possible. This cannot go on. Is that understood?”

Merlin dropped his gaze and mumbled, “Yes, sire.”

“Good. You may go.”

Merlin turned on his heel and left, and Arthur wondered whether he’d done the right thing.

He didn’t doubt that Merlin would do as he’d asked—ordered—but Merlin clearly wasn’t happy about it. It didn’t change the facts, though. What he’d told Merlin was true. He did need to know. He couldn’t continue on his merry way, blissfully ignorant. Even if he didn’t like what he found out, he still needed to know it.

He was tempted to have Merlin followed, to find out where Emrys was hiding, but he decided against it. Merlin meant well, and Arthur trusted him with his life. If Emrys came, the other details wouldn’t matter. He’d find out everything important. 

Yes, Merlin had been keeping things from him. But Merlin had, no doubt, caught Gaius out at one point and learned the secrets then. He was loyal to Gaius and, by his own admission, thought of Gaius like a father—the father he had never known, to Arthur’s knowledge. Merlin would trust Gaius’s judgement and respect his decisions. It explained Merlin’s silence, his unusual knowledge, his strange ideas and near contradictory opinions. 

It explained the presence of that other Merlin, the one Arthur suspected might be Merlin’s true self.

Arthur just hoped that, once he had all the pieces, everything would start making sense again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who has been good enough to leave a comment. Each one is greatly appreciated.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, many, many thanks to everyone who has commented on this story!
> 
> Second, and you may want to skip over this and just get on with reading the chapter because it is rather long, but I should perhaps explain what I was thinking with this Stone being given to Arthur. Despite all appearances to the contrary, it wasn’t designed just to out Merlin. If Arthur wasn’t searching for Emrys, Merlin likely wouldn’t have a problem at all; as seen in the last chapter, he can talk his way around many things. If Morgana had never mentioned the name Emrys, Arthur wouldn’t have thought anything when Coran said it. If Coran hadn’t said he’d been looking for him, Arthur wouldn’t have remembered it. If the Druids had said nothing to Gwaine, or Gwaine nothing to Arthur, Merlin wouldn’t have had to turn it over right away if he didn’t want to. However, Merlin was chosen as the courier because he’s clearly not going to turn over to the king the Druids who’d been carrying it and because he can ensure that the Stone is safely passed to the right person.
> 
> The initial idea was to use it the way Æthelu might have. If someone is brought before the king on an accusation of sorcery, Arthur would be able to figure out who’s telling the truth: the accuser or the accused. If magic was used, Arthur might be able to see that not all magic _is_ ill-used. He could come to realize that sorcery isn’t as bad as it’s been painted. Also, he could realize that not all magic users are corrupt; if any Druids are dragged in front of the king, he could see that they aren’t plotting to kill him or anything like that. And once understanding comes, acceptance should follow. And with acceptance, change. 
> 
> After Morgana’s use of the name Emrys, Arthur was already thinking ‘sorcerer’. If Gaius had said nothing, Arthur would have, eventually, found out about Emrys. But he would have been a lot less likely to consider that he may not have an ulterior motive if he hadn’t heard what he did from a source he trusts. It’s Arthur, yes, so he’s still second-guessing himself, but he’ll at least entertain the possibility.
> 
> Also, it’s come to my attention that I have rather poor word choice, saying ‘destined to serve Arthur’ when it really is just to ‘help him’. I knew that, but I just…wasn’t thinking. Actually, I think I was thinking of what Merlin said to Arthur in the last episode: _“I was born to serve you, Arthur, and I’m proud of that, and I wouldn’t change a thing.”_

Merlin didn’t know what to do.

While he was sorely tempted to call Kilgharrah, he was fairly sure the Great Dragon wouldn’t be amused. Merlin knew no one else could make the decision for him, but he wouldn’t have minded some advice on the timing of it all. Of course, given Kilgharrah’s advice of the past, it would either be cryptic to the point of incomprehensible or a very pointed, _“You and you alone must decide when the time is right, young warlock.”_

And since he wasn’t in danger, Arthur wasn’t in danger, and Camelot wasn’t in danger, Merlin didn’t want to abuse his privileges as the last Dragonlord. Kilgharrah deserved his respect, and it felt wrong to call for him when Merlin knew what he would say anyway. He was far better off talking to Gaius, who would also ultimately tell him the decision was his.

He wanted to tell Arthur. He really did. But…. This wasn’t the way, was it? To tell him after pretending, as best he could, to be an entirely different person? It was one thing to admit to being a sorcerer. It was quite another to admit to being a very powerful sorcerer who had been hiding under Arthur’s nose for many, many years now, even when Arthur had recently taken to looking for him.

_Trust your judgement, Emrys._ That’s what Coran’s mother had told him when he’d given voice to his fears. That’s what his own mother would have told him, using the name she’d given him, if he’d had the same conversation with her. Only she’d implore him to be careful as well, and he wasn’t sure if this was.

But he hardly had a choice now, as long as Arthur wore Æthelu’s pendant.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. He probably _could_ weasel out of this if he tried, even now. He’d just have to be very, very careful about what intentions he projected. But….

But he wasn’t sure if he should. 

And he knew he’d been depending on Arthur’s inability to see past the tip of his nose in the past. True, he still doubted Arthur suspected him of anything more than helping a sorcerer, but Merlin wasn’t sure if he could hide the truth Arthur so earnestly sought, especially not if he went back to him as Emrys. Even if he managed not to incriminate himself, even if he was careful enough that he never slipped up, the Stone might allow Arthur to…know. To see what he was looking for. Merlin wasn’t sure about that, of course, but he thought it a highly possible risk, and not one he was sure he should take. He’d already realized that Arthur could figure out when he was lying, when he was keeping something from him.

That he wanted to protect him.

That quality alone might yet give him away, and he’d rather thought it had already until Arthur had been well into his questioning.

Merlin found Gaius sorting through his stores, making a list of what needed to be replenished. When Merlin entered, however, he stopped. “What’s wrong, my boy?”

Merlin’s mouth worked for a second before he could spit the words out. “It’s Arthur. He’s wearing the Stone of Æthelu.”

“He knows?”

Merlin shook his head. “Not yet. But he’s close, Gaius, and I don’t know if I can throw him off again. I don’t know if I should even try. I just…. I don’t know.”

“Sit,” Gaius said gently, guiding Merlin to the table. “Tell me what happened.”

“Arthur told me this morning that he was going to take the pendant down to the vaults,” Merlin said, “but I checked, and he hadn’t, and…. He must have been wearing it all day, Gaius. He knows how it works now, better than you or I do. He could tell when I was keeping something from him. He figured out I knew who Emrys was, and now he wants to talk to him again. He sent me to fetch him.” Merlin groaned. “Gaius, I don’t know what to do. If I go to Arthur as Emrys, he _will_ find out.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Gaius asked quietly. “You do know that you’ll have to tell him sometime.”

“But sometime doesn’t have to be now, does it?” He was scared. He hadn’t admitted that to Coran’s mother, but he was. Terribly. 

And he found it awfully hard to trust his judgement when he was so uncertain about everything.

“No,” Gaius allowed, “but it will be if you permit it to be.”

“I have to trust myself,” Merlin said dully, expecting those to be Gaius’s next words.

Gaius smiled. “Indeed.”

“But what if I don’t make the right decision? What if I tell him and now _isn’t_ the right time or I don’t tell him and lose my opportunity?”

“Merlin,” Gaius said kindly, “no one can tell you what the right decision is. You must simply make one and abide by it, taking the consequences as they are.”

“I know,” Merlin said, because he did, “but that doesn’t make this any easier.”

“Trust yourself,” Gaius said, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. He then moved to the shelf of his previously prepared remedies, plucked up an unlabelled vial, and put it down in front of Merlin. “In case you decide to pay Arthur a visit.”

Merlin gave him a small smile and picked up the aging reversal potion. “Thanks, Gaius.”

He knew he’d have to face Arthur again as his aged self, even if he did risk exposure. If he came to Arthur simply as Merlin, making false claims—however cleverly worded—about Emrys refusing to show or be found in the first place, Arthur would either question him until he became even _more_ suspicious or just send him out searching again later. Arthur might even get it into his head to devise some foolish scheme to try to get Emrys to show himself, in which case Merlin wasn’t doing any more than buying himself a bit of time he wasn’t sure how to use. Considering the only other option he could think of at the moment was to just go and confess, telling Arthur everything….

He felt a bit too cowardly to do that at the moment.

Which meant he was left with answering Arthur’s summons as a snarky, old sorcerer.

He might be able to get away with it—Arthur had overlooked the obvious in the past, far more than once—and he might not. But perhaps if this truly was the time, if Arthur was meant to find out now, then things would be…easier. 

He could only hope so.

-|-

Merlin kept out of Arthur’s way for the rest of the day, but he knew enough to keep track of Arthur’s movements. He took his supper with Gwen, likely never touching the plate of food Merlin had brought him earlier, and spoke with everyone from Gwaine to Gaius to Geoffrey. Merlin wasn’t sure what about, since he hadn’t asked Gaius, but he could guess. Arthur, likely as not, wanted to know where he’d gone off to. He wanted to have an idea of where Emrys was hiding.

For all his theories about Emrys, for all that he’d considered the possibility of Emrys hiding in plain sight, the thought of the truth being right under his nose never seemed to have crossed Arthur’s mind, even when Merlin had hinted at it.

But for all his roaming of earlier, Arthur was back in his chambers now. He was alone, having sent Guinevere off to her own chambers again, fearing he’d be too restless to allow her any sleep otherwise. There were guards outside his door, different ones from last time, but they posed Merlin, who hid in the shadows lest they recognize the sorcerer Emrys, no real threat.

“ _Færblæd wawe_ ,” Merlin whispered, and the gust of wind he’d summoned extinguished all the torches in the corridor and, judging by the extent of the darkness, at least partway down the adjoining ones. In the confusion that followed, one of the guards left his post, presumably to relight at least one of the torches. With a wave of his hand, Merlin loosened the brackets that held up a now-extinguished torch at the other end of the hall, and the remaining guard went to investigate the noise it made as it crashed to the stone floor. Now in the clear, Merlin slipped through the door and, against his better judgement, added, “ _Ne un clyse_.” He could unlock the doors if he needed to get out, but in the meantime, he didn’t want the guards getting in.

Arthur, by this time, had risen to his feet, though he still stood behind the table he’d been using as a desk all this past week. “Emrys.”

“Yes,” Merlin said curtly. “Now what did you want? I prefer having a good reason to parade around here like this, and you haven’t given me one.”

Arthur just looked at him for a long moment before asking, “Is it true, what the Druids say about you?”

Merlin huffed. “The answer hasn’t changed since the last time you asked me that,” he snapped. “Did you think I lied to you through my teeth last time we spoke?”

Arthur, to Merlin’s utmost pleasure, looked slightly uncomfortable. He cleared his throat, then asked, “So you have saved my life? Saved Camelot?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Yes. I have. Are you going to make me repeat myself all night?”

“No, but—”

“But you didn’t believe me,” Merlin cut in, “because I use magic. I am not like Morgana, Arthur, and you should know that well with Æthelu’s Stone around your neck. I seek to protect you, not to destroy you and yours.” When Arthur said nothing, Merlin added, “And while you’re having me repeat myself, I might as well say that I fully intended to heal your father, Arthur, and I did my best to do so. I am sorry, for your sake, that I was not successful.” If the truth was going to come out, it would be better to clear the waters first.

Arthur still said nothing, but he was staring hard at Merlin as if he were trying to…. Well, as if he were trying to see who lay beneath the sorcerer’s guise. He never had been entirely successful in convincing Arthur that Emrys might well be a crotchety old man and nothing more.

“If that’s all you wanted, then I’ll be on my way,” Merlin said, muttering about wasted time as he turned away.

Arthur stopped him with one question: “How long has Merlin known about you?”

Merlin turned back to Arthur, considering the question, and asked, “Why is that your concern?”

Arthur’s gaze hardened, just slightly. “He is my servant,” Arthur responded, a protective edge in his voice, “and I would like to know that someone cannot turn those closest to me against me.”

“I would never do that,” Merlin replied tightly, “but I would not put such things above the lady Morgana.”

The words struck a chord—Merlin could see that—but Arthur didn’t take the bait. Instead, he repeated his question, and Merlin answered, “Since Mordred first came to Camelot.” That was true enough, in one context.

“You have been here that long, then?”

This time, Merlin said nothing. The answer was obvious, so he settled for glaring at Arthur for asking such a stupid question. 

“Why, then?” Arthur asked. “Why help? Why me? Why any of this?”

“Don’t you ever listen?” Merlin griped, although he rather enjoyed the chance to knock Arthur down a few pegs. “It is my destiny to aid you in the best way I can so that you become the person I know you are capable of being.”

Arthur just frowned. “But that doesn’t tell me _why_. Why _me_ , of all people?”

“Believe me, there are days when I ask the same question,” Merlin muttered, well aware that Arthur could hear every word. Louder, he added, “You have shown yourself to be a great man, Arthur Pendragon, and you have a great destiny yourself. I wish to see it fulfilled.” After a beat, he added, “Now are you happy? I’ve answered your questions. You know I don’t mean to kill you, not with the number of times I’ve saved your life, and I certainly don’t want to see the destruction of Camelot. You know I’ve spoken the truth, for not even I can enchant that pendant to give you false impressions. Leave me be. Let me do my work in peace.”

For a moment, Merlin wondered if he shouldn’t have mentioned the possibility of enchanting the pendant at all—it looked as if Arthur were now seriously considering the possibility—but in the end, Arthur seemed to accept his words.

He was not, however, content. “What you look like now—it’s not what you always look like, is it? You assume a different form while you’re in Camelot? That is how come you are able to remain here undetected?”

Merlin snorted. “What makes you think I remain here?”

“Because you said you’ve saved my life before. You would not have had the opportunity otherwise.”

Arthur might not know much about magic, but Merlin couldn’t trick him into believing something of it that was untrue. Not now, anyway. “You’re not always in Camelot when your life’s threatened. I’ll admit I can’t and haven’t saved you every time, but you ought to know well enough that I can’t have remained in Camelot for so long without someone noticing something.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “You’re keeping something from me.”

Merlin opened his mouth to retort, but a sharp pounding on Arthur’s doors cut him off before he could even begin. “Sire?” came the call. The doors rattled, telling Merlin in no uncertain terms that the speaker was trying to get in.

Arthur, thankfully, had the sense to answer before any drastic measures were taken. “I’m here,” he replied loudly. In anticipation of the next question, he added, “I’m well. You’ve no need for concern.”

There was a long pause. “My lord, we suspect an intruder—”

“Then check on Guinevere,” Arthur cut in sharply. “I’ve heard and seen nothing untoward, but if you find any substantial evidence of someone who means us harm, sound the warning bell immediately.”

“Of course, sire.”

Merlin waited until he was quite sure the guard had gone before saying, “You aren’t making it any easier for me, are you?” 

“You’re a skilled sorcerer,” Arthur replied evenly. “You’ve no need for me to make it easy for you.”

The conversation was getting dangerously close to circling back to the topic Merlin was trying to avoid—his disguise—so he put on his most disgruntled look. “You’ve a nice way of saying thank you, then. Not that I thought I’d see a thank you from you any time soon, if ever.” Maybe, once Arthur knew the truth, if he…took it well. But before then? Merlin would bet against Gwaine in a bar fight before he’d bet Arthur would thank the sorcerer who has caused him so much grief, for all that that same sorcerer had saved him time and again.

Arthur said nothing to that, instead choosing a different line of questioning. “Gaius knows who you are, doesn’t he?”

Merlin just looked at Arthur and didn’t answer. It would be answer enough itself, true, but he didn’t want to incriminate Gaius any more than he had to. Gaius had risked much to protect him, and Merlin was prepared to do the same.

“Is that how Merlin found out?”

Silence was the best response here, too, for if Arthur had taken the last one as an affirmative answer, he would find no reason to think otherwise now. 

Arthur was frowning now. “If…if Merlin’s known about you for…for years, and he hasn’t said anything to me, but he’s…. He’s risked his neck for me, more than I would’ve thought. Are you the reason for that? The reason he wants to protect me? Because you’ve been filling his ears with tales of this Once and Future King you expect me to be?”

“You think less of your servants than I’d thought,” Merlin answered, “if you think they’re all so easily swayed by stories.”

Arthur swallowed. “It’s just…. I’ve seen a different side of Merlin recently. I thought you might have had something to do with that.”

“Oh, you did, did you? Because it would be so convenient if _I_ were the cause of it? Well, perhaps you’d know the reason behind that other side of him if you’d taken the time to get to know him better. How well do you know your people, Arthur Pendragon? How often do you take the time to look beyond the tip of your nose, to see behind the masks people put up around you? You can’t expect them to all conduct themselves in your presence as they would if you were anyone else. Not when you’re the king.”

Arthur’s expression darkened, just slightly. “I’d thought I had with Merlin. I thought I _did_ know him. I’d thought we were friends.”

That was far too close to Arthur’s conversation with Morgana for Merlin’s liking. “You are friends,” he said fiercely. “Anyone can see that. But perhaps you’d be better ones if you took the time to hear him out.”

Arthur looked slightly puzzled now. “But Merlin never talks about…that sort of thing. His childhood, his home, his family, even how he spends his days off when he’s not in the tavern.”

Despite himself, Merlin bristled at Arthur’s last remark. Always thinking he was in the tavern…. Besides, the few times he _did_ talk about any of those things, Arthur usually ended up calling him a girl. “Perhaps you never give him the opportunity,” he countered, “or perhaps you’re too busy making your own assumptions and never listening when you’re corrected. You’ve not even been listening to everything I’ve told you, or you wouldn’t be making me repeat myself so much. It would do you good to just _listen_ for once in your life!”

Arthur blanched, and Merlin wondered if he’d gone a step too far in chastising him. He saw Arthur’s hand reach for his sword and, unbidden, Merlin’s mind was cast back to the day Arthur had pulled it from the stone.

To the day he’d told Arthur a story, a story he hadn’t wanted to hear, thinking it nothing but complete rubbish.

To the day Merlin had, in a fit of exasperation, turned to Arthur and pleaded with him to listen, just as he had now. _“For once in your life, just…listen.”_ He hadn’t thought Arthur would be able to make any connection, if he even remembered Merlin making the remark. But judging by his expression now, Merlin couldn’t be so sure.

-|-

In the past, Arthur had chalked up any particularly unusual qualities of Merlin’s—his moments of wisdom, his strange bits of knowledge, that sort of thing—to Gaius’s influence. 

Now he wasn’t so sure.

The more time he spent with Emrys, the more he could see the man’s influence on Merlin.

On _Merlin_. _Mer_ lin, of all people, spent his time listening to a sorcerer _in Camelot_. Despite _knowing_ the evils of magic, he still made the time to talk to a _sorcerer_. Now, Arthur was more than willing to overlook Merlin’s protection of Will. And he could understand Merlin’s—and Gaius’s, come to that—protection of Emrys. But willing association for extended periods of time? Long enough that it might even qualify as…. “Is Merlin your friend?”

The question caught Emrys off guard. “What?”

“Merlin. He’s obviously spent a lot of his time with you. For all I know, he’s with you instead of at the tavern whenever he disappears, and he’s just let me believe it’s the tavern because it’s an excuse I’ll accept. Is that true?”

Silence for a moment, then, “Not precisely.”

“But precisely enough that, yes, Merlin _is_ your friend? And he _has_ been helping you hide out in Camelot all these years?”

Emrys stalked up to Arthur, drawing himself up to his full height—which wasn’t nearly as impressive as it could have been, but was impressive enough, given who and what he was. “Merlin does what he believes is best for you and for Camelot. You don’t need to question his loyalty now, and you never will. He serves you, Arthur, in any way he can, even if you can’t always see the ways he does it.”

“You’ve been talking to Gaius,” Arthur observed, not sure why he was at all surprised by this notion when he’d already been assuming it.

A smile crossed Emrys’s face. “We’ve spoken before, yes. But you already knew that.” A snort, then a derisive, “You’re back to asking questions you already know the answers to. Have you no imagination?”

Arthur was almost wishing he hadn’t been asking questions for which he suspected the answers. He didn’t like getting everything confirmed. Yes, the news that Emrys was, at least at present, dedicated to protecting him—and by extension, Camelot—was comforting. But to know without a doubt that Gaius and _Merlin_ had been protecting him from Arthur? From his father? For _years_?

And he’d never had even an inkling of that until now?

What _else_ had been going on without his notice?

Arthur swallowed thickly. “Is there anyone else?” he asked. At Emrys’s glare, Arthur clarified, “Besides Merlin and Gaius, is there anyone else in Camelot who knows of you and has helped you…protect me? Kept your secret for that purpose?”

Emrys looked at him for a long moment. “Not any longer.” It was the truth, but Arthur suspected it of being tempered. “Most who do know of me do not reside in Camelot.”

“Like Coran.”

Emrys inclined his head in agreement. “Like Coran.”

“But how did he know you were here?”

Emrys chuckled. “I suspect it was more suspicion than anything else, though word of me being in Camelot would have travelled with Mordred all those years ago. The Druids all know what I am destined to do, Arthur Pendragon, just as they know what you are destined to do. That knowledge is one of the reasons you received the Stone of Æthelu. You are not Uther, and the Druids do not wish you to be. I believe they hoped the pendant would allow you to see that not all magic is as black as you’ve been taught. I use my magic for good, Arthur, and I use it for you. Know this, and know that those with magic do not have to live in fear of being hunted. Peace can reign without the repression of magic.”

“Morgana—”

“Morgana would have been put to death by Uther if she had been discovered,” Emrys cut in, “and she knew this well. That knowledge, that fear, twisted her heart. She turned to the only one who would help her make sense of it all: Morgause.” A pause. “I do not know if a different path would have had a different outcome, but I will admit that I refused to see the end of the path that was taken.”

It took Arthur a moment to sort through those words. “You could have stopped her,” he realized.

“If I had listened to those wiser than myself, then I would have,” Emrys agreed quietly. “I nearly did.”

Arthur frowned, thinking back to the years before Morgana had tried to claim Camelot’s throne as her own. “Morgana’s fall, when she was near death….”

Emrys said nothing, but Arthur could read the look on his face. He had caused that. He had tried to use _magic_ to— 

But he hadn’t succeeded, and even if he had, Camelot would have been better for it.

“You were going to murder her after she celebrated her birthday? But she wasn’t even—”

“The lady Morgana was no friend of Camelot then,” Emrys interrupted. “She meant to kill the king; I tried to hinder her, not take her life, for I thought there was hope of redemption for her.” Then, bitterly, he added, “I was wrong, but I did not know that until after I had healed her.”

“ _You_ healed her? But Father said Gaius….” Arthur broke off.

Uther had told Gaius to do whatever it took. Though few knew of that order, all who heard it knew, or at least suspected, what it meant: use magic if necessary. Save her, no matter the cost.

“How much have you done for us? For Camelot?”

“More than you’ll ever know, Arthur,” came the quiet reply. “And if you allow me, I’ll continue to do so.”

_If you allow me…._ But he _couldn’t_ allow Emrys to keep doing what he was Even…even knowing that magic could, by some, be used to help. There were too many people who would abuse that freedom. Even if he thought he would ever use this Stone again, he could not try to look into the heart of every single sorcerer in his kingdom. Besides, it wasn’t as if he could discern the difference between what they believed beneficial and what actually _was_ beneficial. Good things did not always come from good intentions. 

And, to be honest, he didn’t _like_ the thought of allowing something he could not hope to stop if it got out of hand. Emrys…. Regardless of what the Druids said, regardless of what Emrys himself had said, Arthur didn’t know him. He certainly wasn’t comfortable with trusting him. Perhaps he wasn’t like Morgana _now_ , but Arthur had no guarantee that wouldn’t change.

Magic was…. There was so much _evil_ that could come from sorcery. A few benefits did not outweigh that, particularly when there was no substantial proof to be had that anything which appeared beneficial was any more than an illusion. That things would not take a drastically different turn, given a little bit of time. The people supported the ban on sorcery, and it was in place to protect them all. He could imagine the uproar he’d get from suggesting they even consider repealing the ban. The few supporters—those who secretly knew someone hiding magic, no doubt, or were like Merlin and had a greater belief in the goodness of human nature than he—would be drowned out by the naysayers. 

It simply wasn’t worth considering. He couldn’t do it. If he let on he was even thinking about it—not that he was even truly considering it—he would face allegations that he was enchanted. That he was not fit to rule Camelot. Perhaps even that he was in league with Morgana.

It wasn’t worth the fight, not when he was so uncertain of the outcome. Not when he didn’t have the luxury of just _trusting_ someone as naïvely as Merlin. He was the king. He had to consider what was best for Camelot. And no matter what Merlin had told him before, no matter what Emrys was telling him now, Arthur felt it would be best if things remained as they were. He knew where he stood. He could still rule his kingdom without fear of losing control, without fear of twisted magic growing beneath a benign mask and overwhelming them. Camelot could— _would_ —flourish without the influence of magic that tainted the other kingdoms.

Judging from the look Emrys was giving him, the sorcerer knew his thoughts. The idea sent a shiver down Arthur’s spine. 

“Coran’s parents knew what would happen,” Emrys said softly, “when they departed to give you your gift. They knew the price that would be paid, but they accepted it. They did not want to be hunted for who they were, what they did, or what they knew to be the truth. Even knowing that you might not accept it, that you might not be ready, they had faith in you. Æthelu’s Stone…. They believed it would help you, Arthur. That you would remember it and consider it, when the time came that you were ready. They believed it to be a symbol of good faith. I suggest you think on their actions before you let their sacrifice be in vain.” Then he turned and uttered something Arthur didn’t quite catch, and he was out the door and gone.

Arthur made no move to stop him, no move to catch him again, and he wondered whether he ought to pursue this matter further. Logic told him he should. His heart, aching at his father’s memory, was not inclined to disagree. But some small part of him had enough influence to stay him, to override his impulse to chase after Emrys yet again. It kept him rooted in place as surely as any sorcerer’s spell.

Everything Arthur knew about Emrys appeared to be true. He had saved his life. He had saved Camelot. He had been doing so for far longer than Arthur had initially thought. He was a powerful enough sorcerer to remain undetected in Camelot, braving its ban on the practice of magic in order to fulfill his destiny, in order to help the Once and Future King. Morgana knew of his influence and perhaps even feared him for it, for his magic was the light to her darkness. The Druids knew of him—had perhaps known of him before he had even come to be—and they evidently tasted change on the wind, change they believed he would bring, no doubt, with the help of Emrys.

The trouble was, Arthur had seen how magic could warp a person’s very soul.

Emrys’s intentions might be good now, but….

Arthur sighed and, finally, pulled off the pendant. _“Knowledge is not a simple thing,”_ Emrys had told him, _“and can be a great burden to bear. You would do well not to shoulder it unnecessarily lest you find yourself no longer capable of trust.”_

It would be hard to look at Merlin and not feel the sting of untold secrets. Gaius…. It was far easier to forgive Gaius for that, somehow. But he’d never expected it of Merlin. 

And Emrys’s influence on Merlin was much too clear to ignore. His desire to protect Arthur had only been matched by Emrys’s. They’d been…the same, in a way. 

The same….

And it was then that Arthur thought he could finally place, with a twisting feeling in his gut, the sense of familiarity he had always felt in Emrys’s presence.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been commenting on this story. I truly do appreciate it, and my apologies for the longer-than-usual wait on this chapter.

The warning bell never sounded, and Merlin supposed the guards had turned up no _substantial evidence_ of an intruder, what with no one claiming to have seen anything and everyone claiming to have been perfectly fine.

Merlin wasn’t sure whether he was grateful for that or not, seeing as running after a nonexistent intruder would keep his mind off of things.

He made it back to the rooms he shared with Gaius without incident, but the physician wasn’t there. Merlin stashed his disguise away in its usual place and then, hoping it would calm him, began to grind up some of the dried herbs for later use—the ones that needed to be reduced to a fine powder, at any rate. He rather expected he might grind something too much in the state he was in.

The rhythm was calming, like he’d wanted. It was repetitive. It was dependable. 

But it wasn’t really helping, not when he couldn’t lose himself in the task.

Merlin had half expected to be interrupted by Arthur at some point. It was Arthur, after all. Even if he’d gotten what he’d wanted—a chance to talk to Emrys again—he wasn’t one to give up. He would still want to know what had thus far been kept from him: how Emrys had hidden in Camelot for so long. Who he was, if the old sorcerer Arthur knew him as was not his true self.

To be honest, Merlin wasn’t quite sure whether he was relieved or worried that Arthur never came looking for him, especially since he knew by now that Merlin at least had some, if not all, of the answers.

Merlin sighed, dropping the pestle onto the table and pushing the mortar away. He had to talk to Arthur. He didn’t have to let Arthur know what was bothering him, after all. Normally, Merlin wouldn’t expect Arthur to notice, but he wasn’t so sure how much Arthur would miss as long as he wore the pendant. Still, he’d made it through a couple conversations without any real irreversible damage—Arthur’s obliviousness always had worked in Merlin’s favour when it came to keeping his secret—and speaking with Arthur would put his mind at ease far better than his current task.

Just in case this _was_ the time when his luck ran out and Arthur managed to piece it all together.

Somehow.

Unfortunately, Merlin knew he’d left more than enough clues over the years for someone to figure it out, Camelot’s current king included—even considering Arthur’s upbringing and instilled world view.

So if this truly was the time, he’d rather know now. He didn’t want to keep guessing. He’d be happier knowing where he stood.

Knowing, finally, whether or not everything was over.

Merlin searched Gaius’s stores of prepared remedies and found a simple sleeping draught. Nothing particularly potent, admittedly, but certainly enough to ease someone’s way into sleep so they could wake up refreshed the next morning. It was not unlike what Gaius had given Morgana to deal with her nightmares. But it was a good excuse to visit Arthur, so Merlin pocketed it before going on his way.

He knocked on the door to Arthur’s chambers and entered with a bright smile fixed on his face. “It go well?” he asked.

Arthur grunted but didn’t look up from the papers on his desk.

Well, that was Arthur for you. Merlin fished out the sleeping draught and placed it in front of Arthur. Seeing the Stone of Æthelu resting on the desk, Merlin clarified, “Sleeping draught. Gaius thought it might help settle your thoughts. Isn’t very strong, though. We don’t want you to wake up any more disoriented in the morning than you usually do.”

Arthur continued to ignore him, so Merlin rolled his eyes and set about straightening the bed. Personally, he didn’t see the point of it—Arthur was going to sleep in it soon enough, and he’d already made it once today and it hadn’t gotten that mussed up—but it gave him an excuse to stick around for a bit longer. “You did eat supper, didn’t you?” Merlin asked, looking over at Arthur. “You shouldn’t take that on an empty stomach if you don’t have to.”

Still no response.

“I don’t think that one tastes horrible, if it helps,” Merlin added, even though he was fairly sure it did. “I’m sure I’ve had worse, anyway.” That he knew was true, at least, since Gaius had so kindly used him as the taste tester when they’d been swapping potions on the troll. And even if Arthur wasn’t wearing the pendant and therefore ought to have no more inkling than normal if Merlin was lying to him, Merlin didn’t really want to lie to him more than he had to.

Arthur was, after all, his friend.

“It won’t take long to kick in once you drink it,” Merlin continued, “so you shouldn’t take it too long before you plan on retiring. And you really ought to retire soon, Arthur, because I expect this has been a long and trying day for you, and I have to deal with you in the morning and you’ll be in a right sour mood if you keep ignoring everything I’m saying, and—”

“Merlin.”

Acknowledgement. Finally. “Yes, sire?”

“Shut up.”

It figured. “Oh, of course, sire. Right away, sire. As you wish, sire. It’ll be my pleasure, si—”

“ _Now_.”

Arthur’s voice was tight, his tone dark, and he still didn’t look up.

Merlin worked his way around to Arthur’s side in silence, straightening things as he went, and craned his neck to see what Arthur was working on so diligently.

He didn’t need more than a glimpse to see that it was a list.

More worryingly, a few precious seconds of closer inspection revealed that it was a list of Arthur’s close calls with death, many of which had involved Merlin saving his life, and a list of other unexplainable events—unexplainable to Arthur, at least—that had occurred over the years.

The leaden pit which had somehow found its way into Merlin’s stomach refused to be reasoned away this time, and Merlin was rather glad that Arthur wasn’t looking at him. He was sure he must have gone white. As it was, he had to consciously make sure he didn’t reach out to grab something to steady himself, despite no longer quite trusting his feet to hold him. He didn’t want to give himself away. He didn’t want to give Arthur any reason to think that he was alarmed.

There was still a chance that Arthur would put it together wrong, that this wasn’t…that this wasn’t _it_ , that he’d have a bit more time to think of a better way to tell the king, but….

A hand covered the parchment, and Arthur, still without facing him, said, “You’re dismissed, Merlin.”

Merlin swallowed. “You’re sure you don’t need anything else?” It was hard to choke out the words in his usual light tone, but Merlin managed it. Perhaps it did all come down to practice. To habit. To the fact that he’d been hiding a piece of himself all his life from everyone but a select few.

“ _Go_.”

Merlin went, but he only worried more. And when Gaius, who was back in his chambers by the time Merlin returned, asked him how it had gone, Merlin admitted to all his fears and suspicions. Gaius couldn’t help him, not in this, but he needed someone to talk to, and Gaius was there, willing to listen and offer what advice he could, just as he always was.

-|-

Arthur glowered at the parchment in front of him, but he was the one who had filled it, and he knew each point on the list he’d made deserved to be there.

It was a collection of observations, nothing more.

But they added up.

The majority of them shared a common element, but even where that element was lacking or ambiguous, there was still a sense of uniformity, of similarity.

So, even if Arthur wished he couldn’t see it, he couldn’t deny it: everything came back to Merlin.

_Merlin_.

Clumsy, joking, bumbling, foolish, innocent, grinning, idiotic, cheerful, cheeky, blabbermouth _Merlin_ …. Only, it wasn’t that Merlin. It was the other one. The quiet, serious, wise, brave, loyal, confident Merlin who had believed in him when he hadn’t believed in himself, who almost seemed, though Arthur would never have admitted it aloud, to possess some inner power. A strength of character not unlike Gwaine’s, though one Arthur had never been able to define.

Arthur had always thought that was just some…quality of Merlin’s. An admirable one, perhaps cultivated from his time with Gaius, but which, for all Arthur knew, had been there Merlin’s entire life. He’d known Merlin for years, but it was times like these that Arthur truly had to wonder how well he did know him.

Arthur clenched his hands into fists. When Merlin had come in to drop off the sleeping draught, he’d been…. He’d been the usual Merlin. The mask. There’d been no sign of that other Merlin. No sign of the Merlin who consorted with _sorcerers_. No sign of the Merlin who might be…be….

Merlin.

_Mer_ lin, of all people.

He’d find it easier to believe of someone else, of almost _anyone_ else. Because Merlin…was Merlin.

He wasn’t _supposed_ to be any more than that, anything else other than that. He was just supposed to be Merlin, a terrible servant but a true friend.

Arthur didn’t want that to change.

Things would be easier if he could just explain all this away. Just call it coincidence and nothing more. It would be quite simple to just not look any further, not press, not dig. It would be a relief to forget about it and pretend he’d never noticed this.

Except he couldn’t, no matter how much he might want to.

_“I can’t turn a blind eye to something just because it unsettles me.”_ That’s what he’d told Merlin only hours ago. It was no less true now than it had been then.

This…this was one aspect of kingship upon which he was not keen. He had a duty to dole out punishment when a crime had been committed. To do so where a child was concerned had been…unacceptable, almost, for children were children and did not always understand the gravity of the situation. To do so where a friend was concerned was…painful. And with Merlin?

After all these years, it was unthinkable.

But as it was undeniable, it would also be unavoidable, and he didn’t want….

Not _Mer_ lin.

Arthur jumped to his feet, wanting to leave his unpleasant thoughts behind but knowing he could do little more than seek advice on this matter. Not that anyone could give him proper advice at this point, not on this matter. The closest person to him who could possibly give him advice on this subject was Gaius, and Arthur wasn’t about to ask Gaius.

But Arthur’s feet went where his heart led them, and he stopped in front of one of the doors not much farther down the corridor. He rapped loudly on the door, and Guinevere’s voice rang out immediately. “Come in!” When he did and she saw it was him, her smile grew into a rather telling smirk. She threw her arms around him and, after breaking her kiss, asked, “Is my banishment from our chambers finally over?”

“It’s not banishment,” Arthur protested feebly.

Gwen frowned and loosened her embrace. “You know I’d rather stay with you than be sent off to another room,” she chided. “You needn’t worry you’ll keep me awake with your pacing. I just want to be with you, Arthur.”

“I only wish for my troubles not to be yours,” Arthur said.

Guinevere laughed. “Oh, Arthur, you know I’d gladly bear any burden with you, and I suspect that’s why you’re here in the first place, since you’ll not let me back to your bed tonight.”

Arthur smiled weakly. “You know me too well.”

They ended up sitting on Gwen’s bed, hands intertwined, positioned so Guinevere could rest her head on his shoulder. She didn’t say anything, and he knew she was waiting for him to speak first. But he wasn’t sure where to start, and he wasn’t sure how much to say.

It was a long while before he croaked, “I wore that pendant today, for a time. The Stone of Æthelu.”

“Mm.” No judgement from Gwen. “And did it work, as they said?”

“I….” How was he to answer that? “I…felt things.”

“Things.” It was a statement, not a question, and it was still spoken too lightly to tell him what Guinevere truly thought of the matter.

“It’s difficult to explain.”

“I imagine it would be.”

Arthur tried to gather his thoughts. “I was privy to…. Not thoughts, nothing so precise. It was not an invasion of one’s innermost privacy. More…feelings.”

“Intentions, I thought it was.”

“It…was,” Arthur admitted. “But nothing terribly precise.” Not from anyone…except Emrys, except Merlin. Concern. Protection. Deceit. “It was all…waves, it felt like.” He stopped for a moment. “You know I love you, Guinevere.”

“I should hope so.” He knew without looking that she was smiling. “And I should hope that you wouldn’t need any pendant to know that my feelings for you are true, Arthur. I’ve always loved you and I’ll never stop.”

“I do know that,” Arthur assured her. Lancelot…. Whatever it had been between him and Guinevere had long since passed. Thinking on how happy they were together now, he had half a mind to think that she had been enchanted when he’d caught the two of them together. He could fancy it being an attempt to stop this happiness of theirs from ever coming to be, though he never liked to dwell on the subject because it invariably brought up questions neither of them could answer. “I do. But that love between us…. We can both feel it, can we not, as if it were a tangible thing?”

“I can, and you must as well if you are bringing it up.”

“That’s what it was like,” Arthur explained. “I had this…certainty of something, a conviction I cannot otherwise explain.”

When he did not continue, Gwen prompted him, gently saying, “And?”

He breathed out slowly. “I don’t think there are any threats to us here,” he said carefully.

Guinevere shifted now, straightening up and studying his face for a moment. “Did you find Emrys?” she asked.

He’d mentioned nothing to her earlier, but perhaps he had said too little of everything else over their meal. And though he wanted to tell her now, to tell her everything, his tongue was frozen in his mouth, and he couldn’t get the words out.

“You did,” she realized, his silence answer enough. “But he means us no harm? You’re certain?”

“His intentions are noble,” Arthur managed at last. They were for now, at least, if he could not be certain that they would remain so, however much he wished otherwise. He knew how easily good intentions could be twisted, how sorcery could lead to chaos. Morgana thought her intentions were good, after all. She believed that if she achieved her goal in the end, it didn’t matter what means she had taken to do so. 

Camelot could fall around her, the citadel crumbling and the lower town in flames, but Morgana would still _mean well_ , at least in her eyes, so long as she was crowned Queen of Camelot and could carry out her own agenda. She thought she’d be stopping his oppression—their father’s oppression—of sorcerers. That she was doing it for the good of the people. Her people.

Somehow, somewhere along the way to becoming the cold-hearted sorceress she was now, the once-gentle woman he had known had forgotten Camelot’s true heart and the people she had once cared for. She only saw what she wanted to see, and she was certain utter destruction was the only way to start anew.

That it was all for the best.

Arthur didn’t think he could bear the thought of another sorcerer’s good intentions gone wrong—especially if the sorcerer in question was more powerful than Morgana.

Certainly not if the sorcerer in question was….

But he didn’t want to worry Guinevere about that. Not yet. It was best to stay on safer topics at present. Anticipating what else she wanted to know but hadn’t asked, Arthur added, “And he has, by his own testament, aided us in the past.”

Gwen’s posture relaxed on his words, the tension falling away, but her hands gripped his tighter than before. “What do you plan to do then, now that you’ve exposed him?”

Arthur’s mouth worked for a moment. Then, “I haven’t.”

Gwen eyed him shrewdly. “Haven’t what?”

“Exposed him,” Arthur clarified. “I haven’t exposed him yet.”

“Will you?” He had no answer for her, and Guinevere’s features melted into a soft smile. “You don’t know what to do,” she guessed.

“I haven’t the faintest,” Arthur admitted. No option which presented itself seemed to be a pleasant one. 

“You should trust your judgement, Arthur. You’ll make the right decision.” She’d loosened her grip now and was absently rubbing his one hand with her right thumb. “But if you want my opinion….” She trailed off, looking at him for guidance.

“I value your opinion,” he reassured her, freeing one hand to draw her nearer for a quick kiss.

Gwen glanced down at their hands again as she knit her fingers back into his. Without meeting his gaze, she whispered, “I’d rather you didn’t banish him, and I dearly hope you wouldn’t execute him. Not if he’s saved any of us, you most of all.” She looked up then, adding, “I don’t want to lose you, Arthur. If he…. If Emrys can do _anything_ to extend my time with you, to keep you alive just a little bit longer…. I’m forever grateful.”

Arthur stayed silent for a few minutes. Finally, he confessed, “I don’t want to see the back of him either, Guinevere. It would…. I’d feel as if I’d lost a dear friend.”

From the way she looked at him after that pronouncement, he wondered if she had any inkling of what he was almost certain was the truth, a truth he did not want to admit even to himself lest it become real. Lest he had to act on it. “Then do nothing.”

“But _sorcery_ —”

“Sorcery is sorcery,” Gwen interrupted, “and is as dangerous as its user, in my experience.” He knew why she believed that, knew how easily he himself could be fooled into believing it, lulled into false security. But sorcery was sorcery, and Morgana no longer resembled the young woman he’d once known her to be. How could he be assured good intent would not change? “Please, Arthur,” Gwen continued softly, “I won’t ask you to do this for me. But I shan’t pretend that I do not think Emrys is able to save you and to save Camelot, perhaps even from Morgana herself.”

“Sorcery is banned in Camelot,” Arthur repeated hollowly.

“I know.” Gwen was silent for a moment. “If Emrys has aided us in the past, then has he been here for a long time?”

“Long enough,” Arthur confirmed.

“Then he ought to know well enough by now that the practice of magic is outlawed here.” Guinevere cocked her head at him. “Yet he still does it. If he finds any of us—you, me, or all of Camelot—worth saving, worth defying our own laws to save, then we ought to be thankful. He must believe in us to think that we’re worth risking his life for. He must see something in us that we’re blind to. I can’t imagine he’d stay otherwise, helping us when we don’t seem to want the kind of help he offers, even if we do seem to need it.”

_“Because I believe in you.”_ That’s what Merlin had said when he’d asked why his manservant repeatedly risked life and limb for him—with a smile on his face, more often than not. But Merlin’s words were not unlike what Emrys had told him; it was the same meaning, spun in a different way. _“You have shown yourself to be a great man, Arthur Pendragon, and you have a great destiny yourself. I wish to see it fulfilled.”_

Arthur closed his eyes, wishing these thoughts did not plague him. 

“Perhaps you ought to speak with him again, in private,” Gwen offered. “You may reach an agreement, some arrangement that is suitable to both of you and helpful to all of us.”

“I’m not sure….”

“You won’t know if you don’t try.” Gwen squeezed his hands again. “Have faith, Arthur. I do.”

_But you don’t know the whole story_. And perhaps it was best that she didn’t, at this precise moment. But even without knowing everything, Guinevere’s wisdom had surfaced again. She was right. 

He couldn’t pretend he didn’t see this, that it changed nothing. Not when it changed everything. 

_“Being ignorant of what’s going on under my nose is_ never _good.”_ That’s what he’d thought, then. Now he wasn’t so sure, not now when he was obliged to act on this knowledge. 

_“I need to know what’s going on. I need to know whatever it is you think should be kept from me!”_ He understood now, far better than he wished, why Merlin had tried so hard to keep it from him. To protect him from this knowledge.

He understood why Emrys had warned him about the Stone of Æthelu. _“Knowledge is not a simple thing and can be a great burden to bear. You would do well not to shoulder it unnecessarily lest you find yourself no longer capable of trust.”_

Why hadn’t he listened?

“I love you, Guinevere,” Arthur whispered, kissing her one last time before taking his leave.

-|-

Merlin was lying on his bed, trying not to think about anything but rather just reading through his spell book, when Arthur came.

Merlin hadn’t been looking for any specific spells, per se. Magic that meddled with memories and time was not the sort of magic he ever wanted to practice, but he was well aware of the fact that some spells, however unlikely they were to ever be used, were useful to know. The time he’d temporarily robbed Arthur of his free will to get the clotpole to leave the kingdom before Morgana had him killed was a prime example of that.

Still, since he wasn’t trying to memorize anything in particular or otherwise search for a spell that he desperately needed, he was aware enough of what was going on outside of his little room that he could hastily hide the spell book under his floorboards before Arthur caught so much as a glimpse of it. It was a task made easier by Gaius’s loud and pointed attempts to ensnare a determined Arthur in conversation, something Merlin knew could be quite difficult indeed. As such, he moved quickly.

However, he wasn’t so quick that he was not hanging over the side of his bed, head almost resting on the floor, when Arthur entered.

“Merlin, what do you think you’re doing?”

Merlin sighed, rolled over, and pulled himself upright, bracing his legs on the other side of the bed so he didn’t topple over in the attempt. “Clearing my head.”

“Clearing your head.” The scepticism in Arthur’s voice was unmistakeable. “I was not aware that you had anything in your head at all, let alone rubbish that needed clearing out.”

Merlin shrugged. “Most of the rubbish is what you’ve told me throughout the day. No sense in keeping that in there, what with everything Gaius is teaching me about healing.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “And how, pray tell, does hanging upside down help you to clear your head?”

“Improves the blood flow,” Merlin answered easily. “I don’t expect you to understand; it’s a bit complicated.”

Arthur snorted, clearly doubting the validity of this explanation, and turned and closed the door.

Merlin suddenly found himself wishing he wasn’t cut off from Gaius like this. His mentor had gotten awfully good at nonverbal communication over the years, and Merlin really wouldn’t have minded at least being able to see him during the coming conversation he had with Arthur. Because he had a feeling he knew what the conversation was going to be about, and he wasn’t…ready for it yet. He wasn’t sure if he would _ever_ feel ready for it. 

But now, alone in the room with the king of Camelot and no feasible escape…. He felt like the animals Arthur used to spend his days hunting. He felt cornered. Trapped.

Afraid of what was coming next.

Arthur just stood there, standing by the door, and Merlin remained seated on the bed, staring at him with wide eyes. Finally, Arthur tugged at his shirt, exposing his bare collarbone and saying, rather redundantly, “I’m not wearing the Stone of Æthelu right now.”

Merlin, having nothing to say to that, simply said, “I can see that.”

Arthur sighed wearily. “Merlin. About…Emrys.”

Ah.

So he had pieced it together. 

The list he’d been making had been enough to let him see everything that he’d been ignoring for so many years after all.

So much for any last hope that this wasn’t going to be _that_ conversation.

Merlin swallowed thickly. Somehow, he managed to force his next words out. “You know, then?”

Arthur looked stricken. “It’s true?” he asked. “You don’t deny it?” He was facing Merlin with a look of desperation, as if he had been hoping beyond all hope that Merlin _would_ deny it, vehemently. Or, Merlin realized, as if he had been hoping that he would snort in laughter and tease him for being such a dollophead to even consider such things.

But Merlin could offer no reassurances to Arthur now; he could neither refute the notion nor laugh off it entirely. It wouldn’t be right, after everything.

Especially since Merlin suspected it might be time, in light of what had happened.

That this might be for the best, however uneasy the concept made him feel.

That this way, he might be better able to prevent the dark future that lay ahead, a darkness wrought by Morgana and Mordred working together—united in evil, as Kilgharrah had told him. And Mordred…. Mordred was Arthur’s doom, would stop Merlin from fulfilling his destiny to protect Arthur, would eventually, somehow, _murder_ him….

If he told Arthur now, confirming what the king did not wish to hear, it might become easier to do what he must.

Or it might become infinitely more difficult.

Or it might, if he didn’t fight back, be made impossible.

Merlin closed his eyes and took a few slow breaths. Then, looking at Arthur again, he said, “Tell me what you think, so I know I’m confirming the right thing.”

Arthur shook his head. “I don’t want to say it.”

“It won’t make it any less true if you’re right,” Merlin pointed out, fiddling with his hands now. He waited, but Arthur still didn’t voice to his fears, his worries, his suspicions…the truth. “Arthur….” Merlin wasn’t sure what to say even now, but he knew what had to be said. “I’m sorry.”

“Then it really is true.” Arthur wasn’t looking at him now. “I can’t believe this. Not of you.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin repeated.

“Sorry doesn’t change the facts, does it?” Arthur retorted with a bite in his tone that Merlin recognized. He was defensive. Hurt. _Scared_.

“But it’s true nonetheless. I _am_ sorry. But there was nothing for it, you know. I wouldn’t undo what I’ve done, Arthur, even if I had the chance.”

Arthur ran his fingers through his hair, and he still wouldn’t look Merlin in the eye. “I don’t want to think that you….” Arthur trailed off and shook his head. “I _trusted_ you.”

Merlin’s throat was suddenly dry. “I wish you still would, because you can. You know that. I’d never betray you.”

Arthur’s next words were softly spoken but tore at Merlin with the sharpness of daggers. “You already have.” Arthur opened the door again and left, and Merlin’s heart broke.


	13. Chapter 13

The king didn’t say a word as he took his leave, didn’t so much as glance at Gaius, and Gaius knew without asking that whatever had been said was not what Merlin had wanted to hear.

Gaius knocked lightly on Merlin’s open door before entering, more out of courtesy than anything else. Merlin’s face was pale and drawn. He was staring blankly ahead, and Gaius wasn’t sure how much he was seeing, let alone hearing.

He didn’t bother mustering up a smile. Instead, he sat beside Merlin and rubbed his back, gently, hoping the sensation would help to bring the boy back to himself. After a few seconds, he said, “It’ll be all right, my boy.”

Merlin said nothing.

“He’ll come around,” Gaius assured him, hoping his words weren’t falling on deaf ears—and hoping, most of all, that they were true. “Arthur knows you to be a dear friend,” Gaius continued, well aware that he was simply repeating what he’d already told Merlin. He suspected Merlin needed to hear it again. “This will pass.”

Gaius’s murmurings seemed to have little effect at first, but he finally said something that penetrated Merlin’s shell: “Arthur trusts you.”

A shaky breath, then, “He doesn’t.” The hopelessness in the statement was undeniable. Merlin blinked back tears and took a few more shuddering breaths. “He doesn’t, Gaius. He thinks I’ve betrayed him.”

“He needs time.”

Merlin shook his head, woodenly at first and then with more vigour as his conviction loosened his body. He jumped to his feet, leaving Gaius sitting on the bed. “Time won’t fix this!” Merlin burst out, taking a few steps as if he were going to start to pace. “Time won’t restore his faith in me!” Merlin stopped abruptly and looked up, though Gaius suspected he wasn’t looking at anything in particular. “I…I messed up. I can’t do anything right, can I? I should never have gone to see him again as Emrys. Not when I _knew_ he was using the Stone of Æthelu!”

“Merlin—”

“I’ve got to talk to Kilgharrah.”

“Merlin,” Gaius pleaded, getting to his feet to follow his ward out of the room, “stop and think for a moment, won’t you?”

“I don’t have time, Gaius,” Merlin said, though he did stop at the door to make that pronouncement. “Arthur’s only a heartbeat away from banishing me as it is. I’m lucky he hasn’t sent the guards for me so he can keep me in the cells!”

“Have some faith, Merlin!” But Merlin was already turning away, ignoring him.

Gaius sighed as the door banged closed. He understood why Merlin was upset, and he knew that Merlin had reason to fear. But Gaius also knew Arthur, had watched him grow up into the man he was now, and Gaius was not so sure Merlin had as much reason to doubt him as he believed he did.

Gaius had taken care not to listen in on the conversation between Merlin and Arthur, a decision he was now regretting. Without knowing what Arthur had said, he could do little more to comfort Merlin than he already had, and it hadn’t been enough.

At least he could be confident that the Great Dragon would talk some sense into the boy.

-|-

“ _O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd’hup’anankes_!” Merlin was still making his way through the woods when he called, but he didn’t want to wait until he reached the clearing before calling for Kilgharrah. He’d be there by the time the Great Dragon arrived, and Kilgharrah was wise enough to know where he’d turn up if he didn’t spot him.

It was, perhaps, a bit selfish to beg an audience of Kilgharrah when the damage had already been done, but Merlin kept hoping that there was some way to reverse it.

He’d been able to fix some of his mistakes in the past with Kilgharrah’s help.

But this time, once Kilgharrah had landed and the words to explain the situation had tumbled out of Merlin’s mouth, the Great Dragon merely blinked at him and said, “There is nothing I can do, young warlock.”

“There’s got to be something,” Merlin insisted. “There’s always something, isn’t there?”

The look Kilgharrah was giving him told Merlin in no uncertain terms that he was on his own. “What would you have me do?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin admitted, unhappily aware that he was fighting a losing battle, “but you know so much. Isn’t there…some spell or something? To…fix this?”

“Perhaps it is not broken.”

Merlin shook his head. “Oh, no. You didn’t see Arthur. He’s…. He doesn’t trust me anymore, Kilgharrah. He thinks I’ve betrayed him. He’ll never let me stay now. He can’t even look me in the eye!” The only comfort Merlin had was that Arthur was a man of his word. He wouldn’t sentence him to death any more than he had Guinevere. But banishment was little better, as it would leave his destiny—and Arthur’s—in ruins.

He couldn’t let that happen.

“Then perhaps you should give him reason to believe and trust in you as you once gave him reason to believe and trust in himself.”

“But how? How do I do that?”

“That I cannot say.”

Merlin supposed he shouldn’t have expected anything else. Kilgharrah didn’t exactly know Arthur well, didn’t know how he might react to different situations nearly as well as Merlin did. But Merlin hadn’t thought this—

Well, no, he had thought this could happen. That was another reason why he’d never told Arthur, despite having ample opportunity, even after Uther’s death. He just hadn’t wanted to believe it _would_ happen.

He didn’t want to believe that it had.

“You should trust in yourself, young warlock,” Kilgharrah advised. 

Merlin groaned. “Everyone’s telling me to trust myself. Trust my judgement, have faith…. But I was wrong in this. I’ve been wrong before, and I’ll be wrong again! I’m still going to make mistakes. No matter how much I learn, that’s not going to change.” Worse still was the fact that there were people like Coran out there who _knew_ that, who _knew_ he could make mistakes, and still seemed to trust in him implicitly as if they believed him infallible.

He wasn’t.

“It is not the mistakes you make which matter,” Kilgharrah reminded him, a trace of amusement in his voice, “but rather how you handle the consequences of their outcomes and the measures you take so as not to repeat them.” There was a pause before the dragon added, in a slightly gentler tone, “You would do well to heed the words of those around you, Merlin. If you do not trust in yourself, nor believe in yourself, how can you expect it of anyone else?”

Merlin was silent for a moment, unable to deny the Great Dragon’s words. He still wasn’t sure how to do what must be done, but at least…. At least there was hope, and that was something he should never have lost sight of. “You’re right,” he acknowledged. “Thank you.”

“It would be a dark day indeed if you were to lose your faith entirely,” observed Kilgharrah. “I am happy to aid you if it means I can prevent that day from ever being realized.” Deeming this the end of their conversation, he took to the air and was soon out of sight.

When Merlin could no longer pick out Kilgharrah’s form against the dark sky, he turned and walked slowly back to the castle. 

He had spent so much of his time in Camelot lying to Arthur through his teeth—and not just lies of omission. And these last few days, especially, he’d tried very hard to keep Arthur from realizing his secret. It was Camelot. Sorcery was banned, the use of magic punishable by death.

But Merlin knew it was not always supposed to be that way.

And he had still been behaving as if it were, as if he could never see the day when it would change.

He had told Gilli such a day would come, a day when they need not hide their true selves any longer, when magic would be permitted once again and they could be free. 

He should not have lost his faith in that day being realized. Arthur…. Gaius was right. He _had_ to be right. Arthur would come around. He just needed time. He just needed Merlin to…prove himself again. To prove that he was worth trusting, despite it all and, moreover, _because_ of it all. His past deeds would, to Arthur, feel tainted; he’d need to see that Merlin was just _Merlin_ , that he was more with magic, not less. That he was _himself_ , and that self was Arthur’s fiercest friend and greatest ally. Arthur was an absolute dollophead, after all. His first instinct, that first reaction, wouldn’t be cheerful acceptance. Merlin really shouldn’t have expected anything else from him.

The thought brought a small smile to Merlin’s face, but he was uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was just trying to convince himself of the truth of that statement.

But Arthur, Merlin reasoned, had had few good experiences with magic—experiences where he knew magic was involved, anyway. For Arthur, magic wrought destruction more often than not. Injury and illness and death itself, tricks and illusions fuelled by greed or hatred…. Even without Uther’s teachings, Arthur would be hard pressed not to be distrustful of magic. He had lost too much at its hand for anything else to be true.

Arthur may well come to see the truth of it in time, but Merlin still didn’t feel as if he _had_ time. Arthur put his kingdom and his people above all else, and Merlin could not pretend he was not aware of Camelot’s rules regarding the use of magic. If Arthur acted on his knowledge, doing what he must as Camelot’s king, it would not be the first time he had put aside his own feelings when making a ruling.

Arthur had loved Guinevere too much to put her to death when he’d caught her with Lancelot, but he had banished her all the same. 

In light of their years of friendship, Arthur might already be planning for Merlin to meet the same fate.

Merlin…. Merlin couldn’t let him do that. Camelot benefited far more from him being by Arthur’s side than anywhere else.

Besides, love had triumphed over the burn of betrayal; could not friendship do the same, when it was as strong a bond as theirs?

Arthur knew Merlin meant well, he had to, but Merlin was also aware that Arthur knew how much the power magic granted could corrupt if given the opportunity. Merlin had seen it himself, and not just with those like Morgana. Gilli had nearly fallen prey to it, with his realization of what he’d allowed to happen coming nearly too late. But Merlin…. He knew the true purpose for his magic. He knew why he’d been born with it, what his gifts should be used for. He let that guide his actions. 

His intentions would never change. Yes, he had, more than once, used his magic to kill, taking lives instead of preserving them. Even if he wasn’t happy with the prospect, he knew he’d do it again if it was necessary. And he’d probably have to tell that to Arthur…eventually. When he was more ready to hear it than he was now, anyway. But more often, Merlin had used his magic to help, and he knew enough to ensure that his intentions would never be skewed, his magic never used for a darker purpose.

Arthur needed to know that. He needed to understand or he’d never…he’d never….

Nothing would change if Arthur never understood. Of that, Merlin was certain.

So somehow, before it was too late, he had to make Arthur understand. His failure in that matter didn’t bear thinking about. Arthur must be made to understand.

-|-

Arthur sat alone in his chambers, staring straight ahead at nothing. 

Some part of him, larger than he cared to admit, wished this were all a dream, that he would wake up in the morning and everything would be blessedly _normal_ again, with Merlin being Merlin and no one else.

Another part of him was disgusted that he was so afraid of facing this reality. Of facing all it meant. Of doing what he had to do.

He was King Arthur of Camelot. He did not run away from…inconvenient realizations like this. From problems. From truths he did not like and wished he’d never known.

What to tell the others? The truth, or an easier lie? Arthur still…cared for Merlin. They’d been through too much together for him to pretend otherwise, to pretend their bond was merely one between servant and master and not a bond of friendship. He didn’t _want_ to hand out the sentence he should, but Merlin…. He couldn’t stay.

Even if Arthur didn’t want to see him go.

It had been different with Guinevere. She’d…. It had hurt, seeing her and Lancelot together when he’d thought her his. Whenever he’d closed his eyes, that had been the only image he’d been capable of seeing. He hadn’t been able to bear that pain. He hadn’t been able to bear the reminders. But he’d still hoped, and he’d still loved, so he’d done the only thing he could: he’d banished her.

In hindsight, that had been an absolutely cowardly move.

Yet here he was, ready to do it again. For the pain of Merlin’s betrayal, his treachery. Because they were too good of friends for him to be able to hand out the expected sentence for the crime.

Because Arthur still couldn’t quite believe it, even knowing the truth. Not when he hadn’t even caught Merlin at it.

_“I’d never betray you.”_

But Merlin already had, for he certainly wasn’t the Merlin Arthur had thought he was, and nothing changed that. It was a betrayal of trust if nothing else. Arthur had believed in a very dangerous lie, and now that he knew the truth….

What had he told Guinevere when this had all begun? _“The idea of another Morgana lurking in our midst is no comfort to me, either.”_ He’d been more right then than he’d realized. Another Morgana. Another friend of theirs to be twisted into an enemy by magic. How Merlin had withstood corruption so far, Arthur had no idea. 

He owed Merlin his life, but all he could do to repay that debt was not take Merlin’s in return.

Besides, he’d promised. Promised Merlin, no less, that he wasn’t going to persecute Emrys. That he’d only wanted to talk to him. _“I’m the_ king _,”_ he’d insisted, annoyed that Merlin had challenged him. _“_ I _say what happens to him. And I’ve said I won’t harm him!”_

And he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t have even if…even if it hadn’t been….

But sorcery was sorcery, and though he sorely wished it, he couldn’t turn a blind eye to it. 

Somehow his conversations with Merlin of late made a lot more sense. Merlin’s arguments, for a start. _“You are woefully unprepared to protect yourself from magical attack—Morgana’s proved that over and over—so if Emrys is helping you by providing that protection, I shouldn’t think you’d want him to stop.”_

He’d argued the opposite, of course. That he _didn’t_ want Emrys to stop. But Merlin was right. Merlin had known it would come to this, that he couldn’t allow it to continue. _“Uther’s laws against sorcery haven’t been repealed,”_ Merlin had said—needlessly, Arthur had thought. _“There’s not even any talk of it.”_ A ridiculous notion, he’d thought. They would be leaving themselves open to attack. 

But Merlin had as good as said he was inviting attack, all because sorcery _was_ against the law in Camelot. _“Perhaps if it weren’t, you wouldn’t have so many sorcerers trying to kill you!”_

Arthur closed his eyes and shifted so he could hold his head in his hands, elbows resting on his desk. He knew now, far better than he did then, why it all mattered so much to Merlin.

Merlin, who had been awarded the position of his manservant after saving his life—a reward neither of them had been fond of, at the time. 

Merlin, who had continued to save his life, continued to believe in him, continued to stand by him, regardless of the danger.

Merlin, who had been at court all this time.

Merlin, who had taken care never to say anything in direct support of magic until now.

Merlin, who had been harbouring a secret greater than Arthur would have ever thought him capable of.

Merlin, who had magic.

Merlin, who was a sorcerer—and not just _any_ sorcerer, not someone with so little magic he’d hardly notice even having it, but one which…one who was….

Merlin.

There was a soft knock at the door, but Arthur ignored it. He’d sent everyone away—even his guards, foolish as that may have been—and barred his doors. He didn’t want to be disturbed, not even by Guinevere. She didn’t deserve to have such thoughts plaguing her. Despite talking to her, despite consulting her, despite all the other things he had purposely involved her in, he still wanted to keep her isolated from this issue.

She had too kind a heart.

She wouldn’t understand.

She wouldn’t see the sorcerer when she looked at Merlin, not like he did.

The soft sound of the door closing penetrated his thoughts, jolting Arthur back to reality. With a sinking feeling, he realized who it must be, despite the fact that he’d never even heard the door open, for no one else _could_ open it.

“Arthur?” Merlin’s voice sounded small, uncertain. “We…we need to talk.”

No, no, no, they couldn’t, not about this, not about what Arthur knew Merlin would want to talk about. It had all been said already. There was nothing more to talk about. He couldn’t do anything else. What did Merlin expect him to do, change the laws? He’d have to give reasons, reasons he couldn’t give, not if Merlin wanted to even _try_ to keep his secret….

A secret he wouldn’t need to keep, if it weren’t for Camelot’s laws.

Arthur swallowed but raised his eyes to find Merlin standing in front of him, a pleading look on his face. He wished, fleetingly, that he hadn’t looked. But it was too late now. “I’ve nothing to say.” 

“Then, please, just…listen.” When Arthur kept silent and didn’t break Merlin’s gaze, Merlin realized that he was being given leave to speak. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

Arthur’s hands, which he’d since moved to lay on the desk in front of him, stiffened and clenched into fists. “Did you _ever_ mean for me to find out?”

Merlin, at least, looked suitably guilty. “Eventually,” he confessed. “I didn’t…. I couldn’t tell you, but I wanted to, and every time I came close, I…lost the opportunity, or my nerve, or….”

He didn’t need to finish. Arthur took a deep breath and then said it aloud, giving voice to the very thing Merlin had wanted him to say earlier but which he hadn’t been able to bring himself to utter. “You have magic.”

Merlin said nothing.

“You’re _Emrys_.” He didn’t need Merlin’s confirmation, not really. From the moment he’d realized _why_ Emrys had seemed so familiar, he’d been searching for something to shake his certainty. But the next time he’d faced Merlin, seen those same eyes staring at him…. He’d known. He’d still asked, but he’d already known.

He may have been able to convince himself of a lie. That, if Merlin had magic at all, it was simply a paltry amount. That Emrys was someone else who merely served to encourage Merlin’s practice of it. He’d even have been happier to think that Emrys was a mere relation of Merlin’s. The father he claimed not to know, perhaps, or more likely the grandfather on that same side. Someone who cared for Merlin and was sure to spend time with him, teaching him, but someone who was undeniably separate.

But Arthur was sick of lies.

Even convenient ones, ones that would be far prettier than the truth.

Merlin wasn’t just Merlin. Merlin was Emrys. And Emrys was a powerful sorcerer.

 _Merlin_ was a powerful sorcerer.

Merlin nodded once, sharply. “That is what the Druids call me.”

“And you _never_ saw reason to say _anything_ to me?”

“Sorcery is banned in Camelot,” Merlin said, echoing the words Arthur had said far too many times himself of late.

“Then why are you here?”

Merlin straightened, just slightly. “Because it doesn’t need to be.”

That was not the response Arthur had been expecting.

Something about destiny, perhaps. About him. Something similar to what Emrys— _Merlin_ —had told him earlier.

But this?

“Of _course_ it needs to be!” Arthur hissed. “You know how often we’ve been attacked.”

“But you don’t know how often I’ve stopped it,” Merlin said earnestly. “Just _think_ for a moment, Arthur. You know I’ve saved your life, with and without magic. You know I’m loyal to you and that I’ll never act against you. You wore the Stone of Æthelu. You know I wasn’t lying about any of that. Arthur, I don’t just practice magic. I’m a warlock. I was _born_ with it. To protect you. To aid you. _Let me_.”

“But you’re a _sorcerer_.” And he’d seen how sorcery could change people. Merlin was loyal to him now, yes, and perhaps he believed that would never change, but Arthur couldn’t. Not when magic was involved. He had to take precautions, had to do what was best for his people.

He couldn’t always rule with his heart. Certainly not in matters like this where his own feelings tried to cloud his judgement. Merlin had already proven himself capable of keeping secrets, of working behind Arthur’s back, of doing things Arthur would have never dreamed possible. He wasn’t the Merlin Arthur had thought him to be, even if he wanted to pretend nothing had changed when all the evidence pointed to the contrary.

Merlin stared at him for a moment. Then, in a quieter voice than before, “Would you rather I’d told you years ago, when you were obligated to turn me over to your father? Would you rather I’d told you once you were king and felt bound by that duty to act against me, so uncertain were you of _being_ king at first? Would you rather I’d been sent away or executed years ago, to leave you open to magical attack? To leave you to fail to fulfill _your_ destiny, Arthur?” He shook his head. “No. No, I’d never do that. I couldn’t.”

“You don’t know. You don’t know what I would have done, what I would have said, if you hadn’t waited to say something.”

“I know exactly what would have happened if I’d told you in the beginning,” Merlin countered. “You wouldn’t have believed me. You wouldn’t even entertain the possibility unless you had reason to. You didn’t even believe me when I _did_ admit to sorcery before. I really was the one who saved Gwen’s father from Nimueh’s sickness. I would have tried to save everyone else, too, but Gaius reminded me that we need to treat the cause, not the symptoms.”

It all sounded so painfully…Merlin. The way he’d been trying to help, his good intentions getting the better of him as he made a bigger mess than before. The way Gaius had had to talk some sense into him.

That was exactly like the Merlin Arthur knew, the one he’d come to assume was nothing more than a mask.

“I’m your friend, Arthur.”

That’s what Arthur had thought, too.

The same way he’d thought it of Morgana.

He’d been wrong then.

He didn’t want to be wrong now.

“Please. Please, just…. Don’t punish me for being who I am, for doing what I was born to do. You’re going to need me in the future, Arthur. I’m supposed to be by your side. We, the two of us, we’re…. We’re two sides of the same coin. And do you know what else I was told about us, way back in the beginning? Around the time you first sacked me? When I thought you hated me? _‘The half cannot truly hate what makes it whole’_.”

What was he to say to that? The more he learned, the less he knew. There was so much that was just…missing. So much he didn’t know. About Merlin. About what had really happened all those times. About _everything_.

“Kilgharrah wasn’t wrong then,” Merlin added. “And I…I don’t think time’s changed the truth of his words.”

He didn’t even know who Kilgharrah was.

“Please, Arthur, just…say something.”

Arthur sighed. “What is there to say?”

Merlin swallowed, unable to hide his nervousness. “That you’ll keep your word, maybe?” he suggested. “That Emrys won’t come to any harm? That you want nothing more than to talk to him?”

“Merlin….” He’d already told Merlin that Emrys couldn’t stay, long before he knew them to be one and the same. “I don’t even _know_ you, despite thinking I did. That’s clear to me, if nothing else.”

“You _do_ know me,” Merlin argued. “You know what’s in my heart. I haven’t been living a lie my entire time here, Arthur. I kept this one thing from you, yes, but I _had_ to, and you know that.”

“And Gaius is the only one who knows? Who protects you? From _me_?” Merlin nodded, but Arthur suddenly realized it wasn’t quite true. Gaius protected him, yes, but if he looked outside of Camelot, if he thought back to…. “Your friend. Will. He wasn’t a sorcerer, was he? That was you.” Arthur didn’t need Merlin’s confirmation to know it was the truth, to know that there must have been others….

Merlin had magic. Merlin was a sorcerer. A _powerful_ sorcerer. Hiding in Camelot. Under his nose. For all these years.

 _Mer_ lin, of all people.

How many times had he seen Merlin use magic and just never realized it? 

“Things can change, Arthur,” Merlin said, his voice hardly above a whisper now. “They don’t have to be this way. You can…. You can rally the council, repeal the ban. You can make things different. You can accept me and my kind, and you can accept my help. I know Morgana’s a threat, and I know you fear her, as you well should. But you were right. She fears Emrys. She doesn’t know it’s me, not yet, so I can help you without her knowing it. You’re to bring about the Golden Age of Camelot, Arthur. A time of peace. You’ll unite all the lands, and you’ll….” He trailed off. “Some day, even if it’s not now, you _will_ change things. I know it. The day will come when people like me won’t have to hide in the shadows any longer.”

Merlin always had believed in him.

“I can’t keep making decisions when I know so little of the truth,” Arthur finally said.

“I’ll tell you everything,” Merlin insisted immediately. “I swear. Just ask. Go on.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “It’s not that simple, Merlin. You’ve deceived me for years.” And his words had been spoken so quickly that Arthur wasn’t sure he could believe them. He wasn’t sure what he could believe anymore.

“I’ve protected you for years,” corrected Merlin.

Arthur huffed but doubted he could deny that statement. “You should never have given me the Druids’ gift. If I could have been content to believe that you were aiding a sorcerer instead of _being_ a sorcerer, I wouldn’t have to do what I must.”

“I couldn’t have kept the Stone of Æthelu hidden even if I’d wanted to,” Merlin said simply. “Not when it was intended for you, intended to open your mind and help bring this about. And you can’t honestly believe you’d be content to believe something you suspected of not being the entire truth. You’re not a fool, Arthur, however much you act like it at times.” Arthur glared, and Merlin grinned. But after a moment, his smile faded, and he added, “It’ll be harder for me to protect you if you banish me. It’ll be harder to protect Gwen and Gaius and Gwaine and Leon and Percival and Elyan and—”

“Merlin—”

“It’ll be harder to protect Camelot,” Merlin continued. “Really, Arthur, if you want what’s best for your kingdom, which I know you do, then you would be a fool to be rid of me.”

“ _Mer_ lin, do you simply expect me to overlook the fact that you’ve lied to me? That you’ve deceived me? That you’ve kept this a secret?”

Merlin’s expression became more determined than before, and he leaned in closer to Arthur, pressing his own hands against the surface of the desk. “In light of recent revelations, yes,” he said. “Because if I hadn’t, you might not even be here.”

“And what else have you been keeping from me, pray tell?”

There was a beat of silence. Then, “How long have you got? We’ll likely need longer than one night.” Merlin’s flippant tone meant he was trying to make light of the situation, but Arthur couldn’t bring himself to appreciate the small semblance of normality it carried, nor its achingly comfortable ring of familiarity. Not in this situation. Not now.

Arthur threw up his hands. “I can’t believe I’m even entertaining this idea, Merlin. My hands are tied in this matter.”

“You’re the king,” Merlin shot back. “If you’re beholden to your people to protect them and do what is best for them, then you’d be making a grave mistake by sending me away.” A pause, and finally, with painful slowness, “I’ll tell you the rest of my story, Arthur. The side you’ve never heard before. And I won’t leave anything out, not even my own mistakes. But it’s not a story that can be told in one night. You’ll need to give me time. You’ll need to give _yourself_ time.”

“Merlin….”

“We don’t have to tell anyone yet, Arthur,” Merlin pointed out. “I can still keep my secret while you decide what’s best. Surely, when deciding something of this gravity, you are not inclined to make hasty decisions?” It sounded as if Merlin were trying to convince himself of this as much as he was trying to convince Arthur. “It’ll be better if you take your time in this, if you agree to listen to me and let me prove myself to you before you convince yourself that you must be rid of me. You’re not your father, Arthur. You married a commoner. Your knights are not all of noble blood. You brought back the Round Table. It would not be as unthinkable as you believe it to be if you were to bring back the practice of magic as well.”

If they were conversing about anything else, it would be easy to pretend that nothing was amiss. 

As he’d told Merlin, he couldn’t ignore something just because it unsettled him. But as Gwen had told him, there was no need to disclose everything. Not immediately. And Merlin ought to explain himself. He deserved the chance to state his case.

Especially because Arthur really didn’t want to rule against him. 

And Merlin’s past actions were…admirable, if nothing else.

Arthur stood up slowly, and Merlin straightened up as well, mirroring him. “If I find _any_ evidence that you’ve _ever_ moved against me,” Arthur said firmly, “then I cannot allow you to see another morning.”

“I’ve never done anything against you, not of my own free will,” Merlin said. “And even if it looks like I have otherwise, it would’ve been for your own good.”

He wanted to ask, and he suspected Merlin knew that, so Arthur refused to be distracted. He wasn’t going to fall prey to the same tactics he had so often in the past, especially not since he’d come to realize how easily and surreptitiously Merlin could change the subject. “Furthermore, I expect that this will be the end of secrets between us, should I choose to allow you to stay.”

Merlin smiled, a familiar, goofy grin that he wore all too often. “Sounds to me like you’ve already made up your mind.”

Of course Merlin could read him like a book. He could rival Guinevere when it came to that. 

“And I’d like to speak with Gaius first.”

Merlin lost his smile. “There’s no need, you know. We’ve no stories to get straight.”

“I have to take precautions,” Arthur ground out.

“I thought you trusted me.” The words were light, teasing, though Arthur could see a shadow in Merlin’s eyes that meant he was desperately hoping Arthur wouldn’t deny him.

But he couldn’t confirm Merlin’s words, couldn’t reassure him. Not now. That was the problem. This…. He couldn’t, not quite yet. He _wanted_ to, but he…. He might trust Merlin, but he didn’t trust _magic_ , and to find out that the two were so closely intertwined was…. 

He could give Merlin a chance to prove himself, like he’d asked. He could listen. But wholeheartedly trusting him as he had before was…. He wished he could. It was Merlin. _Mer_ lin. He ought to be able to.

But he couldn’t, not right now. 

“Forgive me for finding that difficult at present,” Arthur said dryly. 

Merlin nodded solemnly, evidently all too aware of the thin ice upon which he stood. “All right. At least you’re giving me a chance. Thank you.”

He looked to be waiting for something, and Arthur suspected he knew what. “I can’t thank you yet, Merlin. I’ve still half a mind to banish you. It would be the right thing to do.”

“The right thing to do,” Merlin said quietly, “would be to listen to yourself and to do what you know to be right rather than simply following the path your father set and doing what is easy.” A pause. “I didn’t think you were one to rule by cowardice, Arthur, shirking away from something just because it’s not easy or expected.”

Arthur scowled at him. “Shut up, Merlin.”

The cheeky grin had returned. “Yes, sire.”

Oh, he’d had enough of this for tonight. He didn’t think he could take any more revelations. “You may go, Merlin.”

But Merlin didn’t move. “Arthur?”

“What?”

“I’m glad you know. Really. I never liked keeping this a secret.” Arthur just made a non-committal sound, and Merlin added, “And all those times you think I was in the tavern? I was actually risking life and limb to save your royal—”

“You’re dismissed, Merlin,” Arthur repeated, and this time, Merlin went.

Tomorrow was a new day.

Today had been a day of revelations, but tomorrow….

Tomorrow may yet be one of change.

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all, folks! Hope you enjoyed it. Personally, I think I ended on a rather optimistic note (I can easily picture Arthur having doubts about how possible change truly is once he starts thinking some more), but the chance of it all working out is very real. I hope you all enjoyed the story, and a special thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review, particularly those who were kind enough to be repeat reviewers. It’s always appreciated!


	14. Shattered

Arthur didn’t get any sleep that night.

That’s not to say he didn’t try, but after hours of lying in bed, unable to stop thinking, he knew he might as well be up. 

He’d thought that he could do this, but now that Merlin was gone, Arthur was no longer feeling the effect of his optimism. And reality was…harsher. Things were different. Difficult, more like. He couldn’t just change things. He just…couldn’t. Even if he _was_ the king.

He wasn’t going to go back on his word—he wouldn’t do anything quite yet; he’d still give Merlin some time to explain himself—but he wasn’t sure what to do in the meantime. 

And he wasn’t entirely sure he could face Merlin quite yet, either, and pretend that nothing had changed between them.

Eventually, Arthur walked to the window to try to gauge how far off dawn was in coming. He decided it was near enough to wake Merlin—assuming he had gotten to sleep—and tell him to go home for a few days. He could leave immediately (George would be more than willing to fill in, Arthur was sure), and Arthur would be able to sort things out without worrying about jumping whenever Merlin walked into the room. 

He just…. He couldn’t look at Merlin without remembering what he was. And he wasn’t so sure he could keep his thoughts from showing through on his face, not when it was….

Arthur shook himself and strode quickly across the room and out into the corridor, heading to the quarters Merlin shared with Gaius. He’d send Merlin away, and hopefully, by the time he came back (because he would come back, and Arthur wasn’t sure whether or not he really wanted to wish Merlin wouldn’t), this would be…. Not _easier to deal with_ , exactly, but somehow…more manageable. Less…less unwieldy and less likely to spiral out of control.

Frankly, Arthur felt less certain about himself and his reign now than he had when he’d first become king, and he didn’t like that. He was unwilling to lean too heavily on the advice of others, as such things had not served him well when he’d unwittingly misplaced his trust, but he wasn’t sure how well he could tread this path without any guidance.

But he had no one to ask, save Gaius, and Gaius…. Gaius was a bit too close to the entire situation for Arthur to trust him to be unbiased, especially since he knew that Gaius had…. That Gaius had _known_ , all these years, and never given any indication….

Arthur really didn’t want to banish Merlin from Camelot, for all that precedent dictated he should, given his actions with Guinevere if nothing else. But Arthur certainly wouldn’t do what his father would have undoubtedly done. He wouldn’t execute Merlin. He couldn’t. 

It was Merlin.

Even if he _was_ a sorcerer.

But Arthur knew he had to do something. He’d give Merlin time to explain himself, since he deserved that and he didn’t want to make a mistake like he had with Guinevere, but he couldn’t…. He couldn’t promise to decide to turn a blind eye to all of this. He would do what he felt was best for Camelot, and he knew Merlin knew that. Merlin wouldn’t have made a point of insisting that his staying here _was_ the best thing for Camelot otherwise. 

Arthur wished he could believe that, but the time of just believing Merlin like that had passed.

The illusion had been irreparably shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...to be continued in [_Shattered_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/984848/chapters/1940644), which is now posted.


End file.
